


Last of a Dying Breed

by wildxwired



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and (eventual) smut, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of bipolar, all the doggos, dog trainer Mickey, pitbulls and parolees type thing, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26072773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildxwired/pseuds/wildxwired
Summary: Ian’s only now realising exactly just how much of a crush he had on Mickey back then, but damn he wasn’t prepared for him to look this good. 15 year old Ian wants to weep with joy at how well the glow up of this particular Milkovich appears to have gone. 25 year old Ian, however, is completely screwed.After the death of his sociopathic PO, Ian’s sent to work at XK9, the dog rescue that gives second chances to the unwanted pets and ex-cons of southside — and it just so happens to be run by the most unlikely success story of them all.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 484
Kudos: 496





	1. Vizsla

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been writing this for the last few months mostly to read to my wife at night when she has pain flares, but I guess she won’t mind sharing with you guys. 
> 
> I’ll be updating at least once a week, maybe twice depending how it goes. Half of this fic is already written, and I’m guessing it’ll be around ten chapters but it could possibly be more. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think. This is my first time posting a chartered fic and I’m anxious to get it out. 
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta whaticameherefor and to nothereNJ for being such a great cheerleader :)
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> P.S. Title is from the Fall Out Boy’s track The Last of the Real Ones.

“A dog rescue?” Ian says, eyebrows pulled together skeptically. His new PO, Larry _something_ , gives him an apologetic yet hopeful smile. “That’s the closest you could get to EMT?”

“Well, y’see, Mr. Gallagher-”

“—Ian.”

Larry swallows thickly and nods. “Ian, of course. The thing is, after Paula’s murder and the whole insurance fraud debacle, that department is going to have to go through some extensive investigation before they even think of taking on parolees again. I’m sure you understand.”

He does. But he also doesn’t. 

“And there’s really nothing else out there? Nothing in a clinic or a gym or with a mob doctor?” Larry glares, well...as much as Larry can and Ian smiles innocently. “Just kidding.”

Larry sighs and turns back to his computer screen, tapping on a few keys with just his two stubby index fingers until the printer beside him whirs to life. 

“XK9 is a great place for parolees to work, and I had to pull some real strings to get you a spot here without having done any animal programmes during your incarceration, but you said you love dogs and Milkovich owes me a favour.”

Ian double takes. “The Milkoviches? There’s an animal rescue run by _the Milkoviches_?”

Everyone in Southside knows about the Milkovich family, and a decade ago Ian got an uncomfortably up close encounter with the family when Mandy Milkovich became his beard for a few years in highschool. Mandy was nice. She was tough and sort of terrifying, but also sweet and a great best friend to waste some of his youth with. He never saw much of her brothers or her father or the family dog (a terrifying looking white pitbull called Casper). They were always in juvie or away on jobs, and the Milkovich house was mostly cold, cluttered, and empty. It made him feel sorry for Mandy until he experienced the full brutality of that family, and he had to help Mandy out of a situation that made him realise exactly why she was so content with an empty house. 

Ian regrets losing touch with Mandy. After his diagnosis he didn’t put any effort into a single relationship outside his family, and everything else just slipped away. Last he heard she was following some asshole boyfriend around the Midwest, her brothers were in jail and her father was dead - probably taken out by one of the many enemies he’d made over the years or in a police shootout. Ian didn’t care. He didn’t know much about Terry Milkovich but, from the little he did know, he knew the world was a better place without him. 

“Mmhm,” Larry nods, hand pincered by the paper tray as he waits for his printouts. “Well, one of them.”

“Mandy?” Ian asks hopefully. Despite Casper being more her brother’s dog, Mandy still loved that demonic looking snow covered muscle of an animal. She could be back. Maybe. 

“Mickey,” Larry corrects and Ian’s shoulders drop in disappointment. “He’s one of my greatest success stories.”

“Success story?” Ian’s having such a mental struggle imagining Mickey Milkovich, the dirty faced homophobe who used to steal shit from the Kash and Grab, being a success story. 

Larry nods enthusiastically and pulls the papers from the printer before shuffling them annoyingly against the desk, tapping each of the edges in a way that makes Ian grit his back teeth. 

“Oh, yes. Absolutely! He spent practically his whole sentence working with a dog training program for inmates, he even managed it in his last year. The charities were so impressed with him they helped him set up a Southside rescue. He’s been up and running for a few years now, rescuing and rehoming dogs from all over the city, working with animal control and Chicago PD.”

Ian blinks as he takes in the barrage of information, trying to rationalise and relate it to the grubby southside thug from his youth. He stares down at the papers as Larry hands them to him, but he can’t focus on the words. 

“Uhm,” he says, and Larry gestures at the wad of paper.

“It’s all in here, everything you need to know about the place. There’s a skeleton crew of staff that are the parolees and then there’s volunteers too. I think you’ll really like it here, and you can learn a lot. Who knows? You might even become an animal EMT!” Larry smirks and Ian makes a face that Larry chooses to ignore. 

“There’s really nothing else?” Ian tries one last pathetic time, but Larry simply sighs and bids Ian farewell. 

Just as Ian gets to the door, Larry calls, “Make sure all your shots are up to date!”

Ian waits for the door to fully close before flipping him off.

-

Blowing up a van probably wasn’t the smartest decision Ian’s ever made, but prison and therapy and a shit ton of self reflection have given him a sense of peace about the whole ordeal. There’s acceptance in the things that were out of his control at that time, incidents and people and reactions where the fault wasn’t his own - but there’s also acceptance of what _was_ his own responsibility, what incidents and people and reactions where the fault really does lay at his own feet. Prison forced Ian to give himself the kick in the ass he’s needed for a long time. 

Ian feels like a completely new soul shrouded in the same old cocoon as he sits in his childhood home, job papers in one hand while he picks at his own cuticles with the other. He pulls hard at the skin around his thumbnail with the tip of his middle finger, yanking at the red skin until it strips away and leaves nothing but a dull sting behind. 

The words on the page distract him from the discomfort, too engrossed in the short bio of XK9 Rescue to realise the battered nail is now bleeding.

He can’t believe Mickey Milkovich is behind this place because, _fuck_ , it’s all so fucking impressive. The shelter has already rehomed over 200 dogs, been awarded extra funding by the mayor and is currently the only shelter in Illinois working directly with local police departments to train dogs with behavioural issues that have been confiscated from criminals; including gangs, drug lords, dog fighters and any other scumbag that abused and trained a dog to be aggressive. 

Ian’s still trying to reconcile the images of the Mickey Milkovich from way back when and the Mickey Milkovich that saves dogs and works _with_ the cops but the pieces just won’t fit together, like they’re from two completely different puzzles. It’s making Ian’s brain hurt so he tosses the papers down and flops back onto the mattress. 

_“Why don’t you steal from a neighbourhood you don’t live in, have some civic pride?”_

The memory rolls around Ian’s head as he lies there, just breathing slowly. There was a time when Ian used to have a bit of a thing for Mickey, which was fucked up considering he knew only half of what the Milkoviches got up to on their various jobs and runs. He should have hated the vicious bully with the botched beard, but he never did. Mickey was the only Milkovich he ever saw hug Mandy or even check in on her before and after runs or stints in juvie. And there was something in Mickey’s eyes, some little glisten of pain in those icy blues that he used to think he recognised. 

But then again Ian was a 15 year old closeted army nut who fucked his over 30 boss whenever his wife wasn’t looking - so his judgements probably weren’t the best back then. Not that they ever improved. He’s fucked over and been fucked over by countless guys in the last decade, and the time he’s felt the most peace in his heart was during his incarceration where he made sure to stick to his own right hand.

Ian glances down at the papers sprawled over the floor for a moment before letting out a huge sigh that puffs his cheeks and rolls to face the wall, trying to ignore the anxiety that pulls at his chest. 

Change used to be his calm. In the thick of his mania, chaos was his peace and routine was his nightmare. Stability made him itch, made him irritable and restless. So he did everything possible to avoid it, including reducing his sleep to the lowest amount until he became a frazzled live wire, unpredictable and dangerous. 

Prison taught him to be calm. Prison taught him peace and reflection and that packets of ramen noodles were the real currency of criminals. 

Now the only problem with yearning for stability is that change makes him queasy, and even though Paula was the devil in polyester power suits, those two months of consistent hell were still exactly that - _consistent_. Ian liked the people he worked with and he enjoyed working as an EMT, it gave him just the right amount of control over chaos he needed. 

And now that’s all changing. 

He knows it had to, knows it damn well _needed_ to change, and though he’s still unsure as to whether Paula deserved to be murdered or not, he knows she needed to be stopped. Yet that still doesn’t do anything to ease the tingling in his fingers or the sudden dryness of his mouth as he thinks about being in a completely new environment, unfamiliar with the routine of the place and the people within it. 

That must be why his brain keeps getting hung up on the thought of seeing Mickey Milkovich again, snagged on the one vague piece of distant familiarity. 

Yeah. 

That’s gotta be it. 

—  
—

Ian’s awake before his alarm goes off at six the next morning. He watches the minutes tick by on his phone screen, silencing the alarm the very second it starts to shriek. 

He takes a moment to close his eyes and just breathe, slow, inhale with a full stomach and flattening on the exhale like the prison shrink taught him. He does it most mornings, a moment to center himself the best he can, to acknowledge the challenges of the day before him and remind himself that he’s capable and wanted and confident without the mania. That he can get through the day by just being Ian Gallagher. 

Rolling out of bed, Ian makes his way to the bathroom. Since Lip moved into the RV with Tami and Fred, and since the Mexicans left, there’s a blessed quietness to the house at this time, before everyone else stirs. It means Ian can take his morning meds and shower in peace without worrying about a line of irritated faces outside the door. 

As he trots down the kitchen stairs, he’s surprised to see Lip sat at the table, sucking on a cigarette and nursing a cup of coffee. 

“You look like shit,” Ian says as he goes to the cupboard to pull out a clean mug. 

Lip hums and nods. “Being a dad takes a lot of fucking energy.”

“Yeah, probably why Frank has the energy of a thirty year old. Well, that and drugs.”

Lip chuckles and pours his brother a fresh cup of coffee before topping off his own. Ian makes toast for the both of them without asking, and plonks the plate of over cooked and over buttered bread down on the table between them. 

“So, you’re starting your new job today, huh?” Lip says, reaching for a slice of toast and biting off a corner. 

Ian curls his long fingers around the warm mug and pulls it to his chest. “Yup. Dog shelter.”

“The one Mickey Milkovich runs?”

Ian’s eyes quickly flick up to his brother in surprise. “How’d you know?”

Lip shrugs. “I’d heard about it, read a couple articles on Vice.”

“You never said.”

Lip tilts his head. “Didn’t know you wanted to know.” Ian doesn’t reply, just stares blankly into his mug as he wonders the exact same thing. “You ok there, man?” Lip prods.

“Yeah,” Ian shakes his head and looks back up with what he hopes is a convincing smile. “Just don’t know what to expect, I guess.”

“Eh, you’ll scoop some shit and pet some dogs. It’s only your first day. You’ll spend most of the day reading health and safety crap, have a long lunch and then be home before you know it.”

Ian presses the heel of his palm against his tired eyes before running his fingers through his hair, the restless night leaving him a little weary and foggy. 

“God, I hope so,” he mumbles and takes a large gulp of coffee as Lip snags another piece of burnt toast. 

“You want a ride?” Lip offers but Ian quickly shakes his head. 

“No, I need the air I think. Thanks though.”

Lip nods, is quiet for a few moments before saying, “Hey, you want pizza for dinner? My treat. If everything goes well today we can celebrate you having a job that doesn’t involve insurance fraud.”

Ian chuckles. “Sounds good. I should probably get going,” he says as he gets to his feet, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair. 

“Have a good first day, man.”

“Thanks.”

“Remember, don’t be afraid to ask the teacher for help and kick the mean boys in the shins.”

Ian flips his brother off and heads for the door.

— — 

Growing up on Southside, you learn to take a punch to the stomach or face pretty young and prison has done a good job of honing his reflexes, but Ian still fails to see the shiny object that hurtles towards his head the second he steps through the tall chain link gate of XK9 Rescue. 

Clearly the walk and the air and the short train ride hadn’t done as much as he’d hoped it would. 

“Oh, shit! Bro, I’m so fucking sorry,” someone says, jogging over to Ian as he clutches his forehead, bewildered and confused. 

“Fuck,” Ian groans, pulling his hand away to find a smear of blood across his fingers. 

The man in front of him is skinny and filled with tattoos and piercings, his brown hair spiked with gel like he’s the frontman of an emo *NSYNC. He’s smiling weakly, clearly amused but at least he looks like he feels a little bad about it. 

“Are you okay? Fuck. I’m sorry, man, it’s fucking _Bella_. She’s on a special diet and she’s really pissed about it.” 

It’s then Ian notices the object of his pain a foot or so away. It’s a metal dog bowl, now slightly dented from its impact with either the ground or Ian’s face. 

“And that’s my fault, why?”

He touches his forehead again, collecting a few more smears of blood on his fingers. It’s a small cut, more like a graze but it stings like a bitch. 

The guy doesn’t get a chance to answer as a middle aged black guy with a short grey beard comes striding over. 

“Man, what the hell happened, Brian?”

Brian bares his teeth in a guilty smile. “Bella. She’s protesting over her food again.” 

The big guy huffs and shakes his head. “I told you not to feed her outside her kennel, man. Go and make sure she eats something and then take her for a walk to cool her off.”

Brian nods and scuttles away, calling back, “Sorry again, new guy!”

“You Gallagher?”

Ian wipes at a trickle of blood before it can reach his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Earl,” the man says, holding out a hand for Ian to shake, and Ian does so gingerly. “I’m the Mickey when Mickey isn’t here.”

“Mickey isn’t here?” Ian repeats as waves of both relief and disappointment slosh around in his stomach. 

“Mickey wanted to be here but he’s been called away on a rescue, so he’ll catch up with you later. I’m gonna show you around, though. Well, after we clean that up,” Earl explains, gesturing to Ian’s cut. 

When Earl leads them into the large warehouse, the noise hits Ian almost as hard as the flying dog bowl. 

There are several rows of kennels at least ten or twelve deep, and each one is occupied by an over excited dog. The kennels are identical, wide and strong looking with a dog house, raised bed, blankets and bowls inside. The dogs that occupy them, however, are of all shapes, sizes, and breeds. 

Ian stops and looks around. It’s a little overwhelming to say the least. God, this place is louder than prison and Ian’s already been shanked in the face by a hangry dog. 

Earl sees him wincing at the noise and laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says loudly. “They’re a little rambunctious in the mornings but they quiet down eventually. You’ll get used to it.”

Ian highly doubts that. 

He follows Earl into a small office, every surface filled with piles of paperwork, folders and dog leads. Earl reaches up to grab the first aid box from a high shelf and drops it on top of one of the piles. 

When he opens the box Ian’s brows pull together in discomfort. 

The first aid kit consists of tweezers, a pack of baby wipes, a bandage roll, a box of Spongebob bandaids and a miniature bottle of vodka. 

“This is your first aid kit?” Ian asks. 

Earl laughs. “Yeah, it’s pathetic I know. It used to be full of the right stuff but once it got used up no one thought to restock it. Most things around here get fixed with duct tape, including the people.”

Ian winces. “Not really filling me with confidence here, Earl.”

Earl picks out the baby wipes and bandaids. “I guess you can help us with this, now. You’re some kind of doctor, right?”

“EMT,” Ian corrects, staring down at the garish blue and yellow box of children’s band aids. 

“Cool. So, you want Spongebob or Patrick? I’ve always been more of a Patrick guy myself.”

— — 

Ian’s not happy about the bright fucking yellow bandaid slapped on his forehead, but at least the rest of the parolees are good enough to not give him too much shit about it. 

Earl introduces the small team one by one. Brian he’s already met, and he still has the decency to look apologetic when he eyes the bandaid. Ernez has an impressive goatee and standard gang tattoos, Kenny is 19 but looks like he’s 12 and Ste is tall and skinny with meth teeth and an infectious laugh. 

“It’s a great gig,” Kenny says enthusiastically as the two of them pile huge bags of dry dog food onto a packing trolley. 

“How long have you been here?” Ian asks, trying to ignore the way the sweat on his forehead stings his cut. 

“Three months, just about. Served nine months for credit card fraud. Not my smartest move but college is fucking expensive.”

Ian kind of feels bad for the kid. God knows how he survived prison, he looks like he weighs barely a hundred pounds. It makes him think of Carl, though if this guy is even half as resilient and cunning as the younger Gallagher, he probably flew through his sentence untouched. 

Kenny is in charge of the last row of twelve dogs, the ones that have been here the longest. It’s obvious this is a well practiced routine as the dogs sit patiently in their kennels, tails thumping against the ground like an echoing applause. 

The first dog they get to is a tan coloured mongrel. She’s got a cute little face and a happy lolling tongue, and Ian finds himself smiling for the first time today. 

Kenny pulls the pin out of the gate hatch and holds it open so Ian can carry the cup of kibble inside. 

“This is Esmerelda,” Kenny laughs as the dog bounds over to them as soon as the gate is closed. She greets Kenny first with a happy yip and a headbutt before spinning around and leaping in front of Ian. She’s all over him in a second, ignoring the food that Ian crouches to pour into her bowl in favour of licking his cheek and ear repeatedly. He can’t help but laugh. 

“Hey girl,” he greets, quickly rubbing and patting the dog's sides, digging his fingertips into her short fur and giving her scritches as she pounds her tail happily against his shin. “It’s nice to meet you too,” Ian says, grinning. 

Kenny pulls the blankets from the kennel and the raised bed, bundling them under his arm. 

“The dirty blankets go in the laundry cart that Brian’s rolling around, then he’ll bring out clean ones.” Kenny explains. “We’ll let her eat her breakfast while we feed the others and then she’ll go for a walk as her kennel gets cleaned.”

Ian nods. “So, we just work our way down the line and do the same?”

Kenny cocks a finger gun at him and clicks. “You got it.” 

By the time they get back to Esmerelda’s kennel, Ian’s met every other dog on their row and is in considerably higher spirits than before. They’re all just so happy to see him, each one leaping on him with kisses and soft paws as they welcome him into their space. 

Honestly, he’s a little surprised. 

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised,” Ian says as they drop off the last batch of dirty blankets to an unhappy looking Brian (who Ian suspects has been put on laundry duty as a punishment for the unidentified-flying-dog bowl incident.)

“Yeah? How so?” Kenny asks, waving Brian goodbye and leading them into one of the huge supply rooms. 

“I thought this place was full of dogs with behavioural issues; those guys were all sweethearts.”

Kenny piles mop buckets, brooms and a roll of hose pipe onto the trolley. “Ah, those guys are always Mickey’s dogs. He’s the one with all the training and qualifications and shit. I don’t know what it is about him but the dogs just love him, man. Even the broken ones.”

Something sad clutches at Ian’s chest. With his own insight into the way the Milkovich children grew up, it isn’t hard to understand how such receptive creatures could feel a relatability of survival with a child of Terry Milkovich. 

“He’s good with them, huh?” Ian asks, finding himself smiling warmly at the thought. 

Kenny starts to pull the trolly back out into the warehouse. “Yeah, Mickey’s the best! He’s been letting me help out with the social media stuff too but that’s probably because he’s hopeless with it.” 

“It’s not the technology,” Brian interrupts as he wheels the laundry cart by. “It’s that he can’t cope talking to the general public without every other word being fuck.”

Now that _definitely_ sounds like the Mickey Milkovich Ian knew. 

There’s a bustle of noise as a group of ten or so people in matching XK9 Rescue t-shirts and carrying dog leashes descend on the warehouse, dispersing down the lines of kennels. 

“They’re the volunteers,” Kenny explains. “They come in two groups twice a day to help walk the dogs. Unfortunately for you, you have to wait to be assessed by Mickey before you can handle the dogs one on one, so you’re stuck on kennel clean up with me.”

It’s not so bad, the kennel clean up. Not nearly as bad as Ian had originally feared. It’s a testament, really, at how well the rescue runs and operates. It’s a smooth and well oiled process of removing waste, hosing the kennel down and brushing the floor with a hard wired broom before mopping up any excess water and replacing the blankets in the dog house and on the bed. 

By the time they finish their row, Ian’s caught on to the methodical order of things, and he actually doesn’t mind it at all. 

Kenny is a real people pleaser. He’s talkative, upbeat and that sweet kind of annoying like he’s everybody’s little brother. He chats aimlessly but enthusiastically throughout the clean ups, talking mostly about what he would have done at college had he not been caught, and Ian ends up thinking it’s a real shame the world is short a cunning little business major from the southside who you can’t help but root for. 

Brian and Ste are loud and funny, constantly throwing friendly insults at each other when they’re not telling some hilarious story from their prison time. Ernez is pretty quiet, sticking mostly by Earl or keeping to himself. They’re both of a similar age, the elders of the group at barely middle aged. 

It’s a nice little dynamic but Ian still feels painfully new, even more so when Earl announces their lunch break and Ian finds himself shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do with himself. 

Brian claps a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll make sure nothing comes flying at your head this time.”

Ian gives a weak laugh and allows himself to be led over to the outdoor break area which consists of a picnic bench and a small patio furniture set. There’s a covered tub filled with sandwich halves and a case of bottles of water sitting waiting on the picnic table. 

“There’s a great little diner around the corner from here,” Kenny starts to explain. “The owner’s in love with Mickey so we get unlimited free sandwiches for lunch.” 

Ste pulls off the clear lid and pulls out half a chicken sandwich. “No, these are ‘donations’, _remember_ ,” he grins, mouth full of bread and not much else. 

Brian snags one for himself. “Like Mickey really thought we were gonna fall for that.”

Ian imagines some stereotypical pretty waitress in an apron and short skirt, holding a steaming hot pie and puckering her red lips. He frowns and picks out his own sandwich from the pieces that are left, putting the strange swish in his stomach down to hunger. 

— — 

“Hey, Gallagher,” Earl calls as Ian helps Brian (or is it Ste? Fuck, Ian needs to get better with names) clean up from lunch. “Boss is back now, he wants to see you.” Earl juts his thumb towards the fire escape that leads up the side of the building to a small balcony and green door. 

“Good luck, man,” Kenny says. “Be careful of Sweetie - that dog will fuck you up as soon as look at you.”

Ian gulps and peers at the door. “He has the dangerous dogs loose up there?”

Kenny laughs. “No, of course not. Those dogs are kennelled in a separate part of the building. The dogs in the office are Mickey’s personal dogs, ones who couldn’t be rehomed for whatever reason.”

“Uh-huh,” Ian breathes, not feeling at all comforted by Kenny’s words. 

Earl pokes his head back round the corner. “You still here, Gallagher? Get moving.”

Kenny grins and pushes Ian towards the stairs before waving Earl off again. 

“You’ll be fine. Mickey’s an awesome guy,” he promises, and he gives one more nod towards the stairs before disappearing around the same corner as Earl. 

Ian takes the stairs two at a time, not really wanting to drag out the anxious feeling that’s currently making its way up from his feet to his knees. He’s thankful for all the prison workouts as he takes the stairs with ease, but less thankful as he finds himself standing in front of the green door in mere seconds. 

Damn. 

Ian’s barely lifted a hand to knock on the frosted glass when there’s a deep growl from inside. Ian pauses, fist frozen mid air. 

“Come in,” a voice that Ian instantly recognises calls, and, fuck, Mickey sounds exactly the same. 

Ian takes a deep breath, pushes open the door and steps inside. 

The growl gets louder, and Ian’s eyes dart away from the figure behind the desk to the beat up couch along the side wall where four dogs are lazing. Two pitbull mixes (one grey and one tan), a black lab mix and a small dark terrier mix all eye him curiously, but it’s the small terrier that’s growling menacingly at him and giving him the stink eye. 

“Knock it off, Sweetie,” Mickey sighs, more like he’s talking to a child than commanding an animal. Sweetie grumbles a little before lowering her head back onto her small paws. “Sorry about her, she’s kind of an asshole,” Mickey says, smirking as he looks Ian up and down. “She’s not a product of abuse or anything, she just doesn’t like people.” Mickey rests his arms on his messy desk and continues to regard Ian with a strange sort of amused smile. It’s probably the bright yellow bandaid. “How the hell are you, Gallagher? Fuck, it’s been a minute, huh?”

It’s then Ian realises he’s yet to say a word to the man, temporarily stunned into silence as his whole brain attempts to reboot. 

Mickey Milkovich is fucking _beautiful_ , god damnit. His dark hair is swept back in a way Ian struggles to remember, more styled like he might actually blow dry it or something else very un-Milkovich like. His clothes are no longer dirty cut up T-shirts and too big jeans, but sleek well fitted clothing in a kind of deep blue that makes Mickey’s eyes seem even brighter. 

Fuck, he looks so good, and Ian’s only now realising just how much of a crush he had on Mickey back then, but he wasn’t prepared for him to look this good. 15 year old Ian wants to weep with joy with how well the glow up of this particular Milkovich appears to have gone. 25 year old Ian is screwed. 

“Yeah. I’m good, yeah,” Ian finally says as he forces himself forward and into a vacant chair. “How, uh— how are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Mickey nods, quickly leaning back in his seat. “So, heard you went nuts or somethin’. Larry said you turned into some kind of gay Jesus. Gotta say, man, I was surprised.” 

Ian picks at his nail again. “Surprised about the gay thing or the Jesus thing?”

“Oh, definitely the Jesus thing. Kind of had the gay thing figured out the tenth time I’m came home to find you and Mandy watchin’ fuckin’ Van Damme movies.”

“Maybe I just really enjoyed his role choices,” Ian shrugs, looking up to find Mickey eyeing him oddly. 

When Mickey laughs, Ian laughs too and a weight of nervous energy dissipates.

This is not the violent little homophobe that used to accost him at the Kash and Grab. 

“You’re full of shit, Gallagher,” Mickey cackles, his smile lighting up his whole face, revealing all his teeth. He laughs just the same as Ian remembers though he’s not used to the grin that accompanies it, and when the sound tapers out they’re left grinning at one another for a few quiet moments before Mickey sighs and says, “It’s good to see you, man.”

Ian tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?” 

“Fuck yeah. You Gallaghers always cracked me the fuck up. Heard about you guys digging up the meth too. That shit was crazy!”

Ian smiles weakly as the memory tugs at him. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Mickey adds, a little softer than he’s ever heard a Milkovich speak before. 

“Shit happens,” Ian replies. “Sorry about your dad.”

There’s a hardness that quickly sets over Mickey’s eyes that makes Ian want to take the words back. He’s about to say something else, but Mickey beats him to it. “Shit happens,” he parrots with a quick shrug. “Larry said you’re good workin’ with dogs?”

“Yeah, man. Dogs are great! Kenny introduced me to all the old timers, they’re awesome.”

Mickey smiles fondly. “Yeah, they are. Here, you should meet my guys.” He opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out a bag of dog treats and suddenly Ian feels like there are four sets of eyes boring into the back of his head. Mickey stands and rounds the desk and Ian stands quickly to join him. 

The dogs quickly clamber down from the sofa and sit in a small huddle, waiting as patiently as the dogs Ian served breakfast to hours before. 

Mickey tears off a chunk of treat and throws it at Sweetie’s feet, who gobbles it up instantly. “Sweetie you’ve met. She was the first stray I rescued when I got out. She’s great with other dogs but isn’t really a people pleaser.”

“I’d noticed,” Ian snorts. Mickey passes him a treat and Ian takes it, smiling closed mouthed and uneasy at the mini cujo before dropping the treat to the ground. “Good girl,” he says softly and when he turns back to Mickey he finds him watching him carefully. 

“This is Cooper,” Mickey finally says, nodding towards the lab. “He’s afraid of hard surfaces.”

Ian double takes. “I’m sorry, _what_?” 

Mickey chuckles. “Yeah, he only likes to walk on carpet or grass or something soft. We’ve got no idea why, we’re still working on it. But I’m not gonna let him bounce from home to home while we do, so he’s just gonna have to hang out with me for the rest of his life.” He sounds happy about that, and when he throws the treat and Cooper hoovers it up, he looks happy about it too. 

Mickey hands over a treat for Ian to drop as he greets the dog. 

“Hey, Cooper!” Cooper barks and eats his treat. 

“And these two rascals are Raph and Don,” Mickey says, and the two pit bulls instantly start hammering their tails on the floor. “They’re new additions. Great with people and other dogs but they’re noise aggressive and can’t be separated, and it’s hard enough convincing people to take in one pit bull, let alone two.” He throws the treats and the dogs catch them before they hit the ground. 

Ian takes the treats handed to him and throws them at the dogs, laughing with childish delight as they snap the treats up mid air. 

With the treats no longer being dished out, Sweetie returns to her spot on the couch as the others begin to push their heads against Ian’s empty hands. Ian gives them all ear scritches and a few cursory _Good Boy_ ’s, and when he turns back to Mickey finds him leaning back on the desk (looking ridiculously attractive) and smiling. 

“These guys are great, this place is great. I’m really impressed, Mickey,” Ian confesses and Mickey ducks his head like he doesn’t deserve the compliment. “How did you get into all the dog programs?”

Mickey gives Ian the same distant look as before with the mention of his father. He tucks his hands into his pocket and shakes his head softly. 

“That’s a story for another time, man.”

Ian gives an awkward nod. “Sure.”

Though Mickey’s features and nature appear to have softened over the years, it’s clear there are parts of him still as guarded as ever.


	2. Labrador Retriever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could he not know?

Ian’s awake before his alarm again. He stares at the ceiling after shutting off the noise, closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath as he steadies himself for the day ahead. 

_Breathe in_. Stomach expands. _Breathe out_. Stomach deflates. 

It’s starting to get warmer now and the light that filters into the room is already golden at 6:30am. Spring is slowly edging closer towards summer, and soon the early morning will be Ian’s only escape from the heat. 

God, riding the L is gonna suck in summer. 

Ian yawns and stretches, rolling his shoulders as they strain with a dull ache that usually comes from a day of manual labour when you’ve been riding around the city in an ambulance for the last three months. He needs to start running again, needs to start moving more and eating more than burnt toast for breakfast, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. 

His first day at the rescue had ended with no more interaction with Mickey, just a promise to run through some things with the dogs soon. Ian then spent the rest of the day organising donations with Brian and Ernez before the second group of volunteers arrived to give the dogs their afternoon walk so Ian could help fill the bowls with more food before they returned. 

Kenny had spent the afternoon in Mickey’s office helping him update the website with new dogs available for adoption, and Ian found himself wishing he knew anything about building websites just so he could offer a hand. 

Ian scratches his stomach beneath his T-shirt and sighs. He’s already half hard from a particularly erotic dream of bruised knuckles wrapping around his wrist, and the weight of another body against his own, but he quickly decides against over indulging in the fantasy, telling himself it’s because he doesnt have the time, when in reality he’s probably afraid to discover who’s on the other ends of those rough yet soothing hands. 

A cold shower helps wake him and clear the dream from the corners of his brain. 

Downstairs, he finds Liam dressed and eating cereal as he scrolls aimlessly through his phone. 

“Hey,” Ian greets, and Liam looks up to give him a short nod and small smile in return. “You ok there, bud?”

Liam sighs and looks back up at his brother. “Got a math test and the dipshit who sits next to me wants to copy my test. He said I better get him a B or he’s gonna grind my bones into dust.”

Ian pulls a concerned face, made even more so by the fact that Liam doesn’t look at all concerned, just . . . _inconvenienced_. 

He pours himself a bowl of cereal and makes a pot of coffee before topping up Liam’s orange juice and joining him for breakfast. 

“You know there’s nothing wrong with telling someone,” Ian tries, but Liam quickly gives him the _snitches get stitches_ south side glare and shakes his head. 

“No one knows how many alternative realities and multiverses there are spinning around out there in the cosmos, but I know there isn’t a single one where _that_ would actually work.”

Ian shrugs. 

It’s true. Painfully so. If the teachers are anything like Ian remembers, they’ll probably do jack shit anyway. 

“You need me to try and get off work early so I can come pick you up?” He offers instead but still Liam shakes his head. 

“Nah. Thanks, but, I got this.”

Ian remembers telling Lip the exact same thing when they were kids. 

“Yeah, you do,” Ian nods. “But just in case, there’s a second door in the janitor’s closet that leads down to the cellar. The locks on the doors and windows are shitty so you can make a quick escape out the building.”

Liam shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Thanks, Ian.”

“And if you do need me,”

“I know,” Liam interrupts softly, sounding so much older than any ten year old ever has. “I’ll call you, I promise.”

-

“So, we didn’t scare you off then,” Ste greets as Ian steps into the warehouse at promptly eight thirty. “Think we’re losing our touch, guys. We’ll have to try harder next time.”

Ian laughs through his nose as he passes by to drop his jacket in the office, finding Kenny already in there hanging up his own. 

“Hey, Ian,” he says enthusiastically. “You have a good night?”

Oh god. _Small talk_. Ian’s biggest nemesis. 

The great thing about working with the last set of parolees was that they were all too busy cowering in Paula’s shadow to partake in idle chit chat about what they got up to on the weekends or if they’d seen that thing on TV last night. The tense silence was predictable and easy to get used to. 

Ian’s aware he can be a lot, and where he used to let himself ramble on with no barriers or second thought to the shit that was pouring freely from his mouth, now he finds himself struggling with things to say while being desperate not to have an awkward silence. 

Awkward silences are Ian’s second biggest nemesis. 

“Yeah, quiet,” he answers anyway. “Had pizza with the family. You?”

Fuck. Why did he ask a follow up question? 

“Played XBox with my brother, mom worked a double shift, had mac n cheese for dinner.”

Ian’s about to ask another question despite inwardly screaming at himself to shut the hell up and start talking about work, when a voice from behind interrupts them. 

“There you are…”

Ian spins around to see Mickey leaning against the door frame, grinning at them both. 

Fuck, he looks good. He’s wearing a denim jacket that’s a little too snug, and the way his tattooed fingers curl around the cuffs makes a moment from last night’s dream flash across Ian’s mind. 

“Hi,” he breathes, dumbly. 

“You’re not making your way through the bandaid collection again, are you?” Mickey asks, nodding at the first aid box that’s still laying open on the messy desk. 

Ian wants to touch his forehead where there’s a small graze and thankfully no more spongebob, but he stops his hand just as it twitches to move. 

“No, no flying missiles this morning,” Ian replies. 

“Great. Come find me after you’re done with the morning jobs, ok?”

Mickey doesn’t wait for Ian to reply, just smiles and disappears as silently as he’d arrived. 

When Ian turns back to Kenny, he finds the young boy grinning. 

“What?” Ian demands, to which Kenny shrugs and holds his hands up in surrender. 

-

“Mickey’s in the rec yard ‘round back,” Earl says as Ian fills the last dog bowl on his row. It’s for Hank the coonhound, who’s currently trying to lick the ginger out of Ian’s hair. 

“Sure, okay,” Ian replies, laughing as he falls back on his ass as Hank climbs all over him, showering him with more kisses. 

“Come on, big guy,” Kenny sighs as he drags the large dog away from his new favourite playmate. “Don’t get him all covered in drool, you’ll make the other dogs jealous.”

Ian gets to his feet and pats himself down before giving Hank one last head scritch as he whines for attention. “Sorry, Hank,” Ian coos. “It’d never work between us, man. I like older men.”

Hank barks that deep hound bark, making all three men flinch. 

“See, you broke his heart,” Kenny says, and Ian’s about to make another joke when Earl opens the kennel gate and yanks him out. 

“Get your ass moving, Gallagher,” he sighs, irritated. 

“I’d listen to him,” Kenny says with a smirk. “If you piss him off twice in a day you’ll be on laundry for a month.”

“Laundry is not a punishment, it’s a rotational chore,” Earl says to Kenny before turning to Ian to add, “that you will never be rotated out of if you don’t get your ass to the rec yard.”

Ian doesn’t waste another second. 

-

The rec yard is a large fenced concrete area with a few pieces of agility equipment, a bench and some large window baskets filled with mostly dead plants and weeds. 

When Ian gets there after being chased off by Earl, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Mickey lounging back on the bench with a large German Shepherd sitting between his knees. 

There’s only one time in Ian’s life he’s ever been afraid of a dog, and that’s when Paula emptied an entire tray of raw meat onto his junk and tied him up in front of a hungry beast of a dog named Biscuit, who looks a lot like the dog currently eyeing him with an eerie stillness as he freezes by the gate. 

Ian feels his heart trip clumsily over the next few beats, a confusing mix of fear, anxiety, and excitement washing over him. His joints feel stiff like they’ve been rusted shut, and even when Mickey’s eyes finally catch his gaze Ian can’t seem to make himself move. 

Mickey straightens up a little when he clocks Ian loitering by the gate, fixing him with a little smirk. 

“Didn’t think you were afraid of dogs,” Mickey says. 

“I’m not,” Ian answers and then swallows thickly. “I just don’t have the best history with…” and he nods at the dog between Mickey’s legs that is still staring him down. 

Mickey ruffles the fur between the large dog’s ears. “Rocco,” he introduces. 

“Yeah. Well, not Rocco specifically…”

Mickey presses his lips together in a tight line. “All dogs are different, man. They can have breed characteristics but at the end of the day, Rocco is Rocco, and there never has and never will be another dog exactly like him.”

Ian swallows again and nods slowly. “Exactly,” he says as he carefully eases forward and pulls open the gate. “I mean, people know I’m a Gallagher and they don’t assume I’m some smart-mouthed alcoholic with more lives than a stray cat.”

Mickey cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “They _don’t_?” 

Ian laughs quietly and flips him off, edging closer into the yard. The gate closes softly behind him, and now he’s only about ten feet from the bench. Rocco is still watching him, and now the dog has shuffled along and repositioned himself so he’s facing Ian head on. 

“Heeey, Rocco,” Ian says with a forced smile, as calmly as he can. Rocco makes a gruff little noise and Ian freezes. 

“It’s okay, bud,” Mickey coos at the dog. 

“You’re not gonna let him lunge at me just to prove a point are you?” Ian asks sceptically. 

Mickey frowns. “No. Rocco isn’t fear aggressive he’s just wary of new people. I wouldn’t let you anywhere near the aggressive ones with the little bitch vibes you’re giving off right now.” 

“Hey!”

“He’s a dog, man, not a bomb. Just approach calmly, stay in his eye line, don’t flail your arms around and sit the fuck down! And knock off that creepy smile. You come any closer with your upper canines on show and _I’m_ gonna bite you.”

Ian nods and breathes out, trying not to think about how totally okay he’d be with Mickey biting him, and instead getting his shit together as much as possible as he walks calmly to the bench and sits down, purposely not looking at the dog or at Mickey. 

Rocco looks up as Ian sits and shifts a bit closer to Mickey, but that’s it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ian can see Mickey studying him. 

“Alright,” he nods. “Not bad.”

Ian smiles weakly. “No more little bitch vibes?”

Mickey snorts and pets Rocco again. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

As the long awkward moments tick by, Rocco seems to get more comfortable. He inches ever slightly closer to Ian, looks up at him with big brown eyes and eventually cocks his head and makes a gruff little noise of frustration. 

Mickey’s hand relaxes around Rocco’s leash. “You can pet him now.”

“Yeah?”

“Calmly,” Mickey prompts as Ian reaches out towards the dog’s head. 

When Ian’s hand connects with the soft fur of the large dog, he sighs with relief as Rocco nuzzles into the touch, visibly relaxing. 

Mickey takes a dog treat from his pocket and hands it over to Ian, his fingers momentarily brushing against Ian’s palm as he does so. 

“Put your left hand out and ask him for his paw, then give him the treat,” he instructs. 

Ian’s struggling with just how _kind_ Mickey’s voice sounds, still a little gruff but not sharp at the edges, not like when they were young. His eyes look brighter too, _holy fuck_ , have they always been so blue? 

“Hey, Rocco,” Ian says as he forces his attention back to the dog. He holds out his left hand, palm up. “Paw.”

Immediately Rocco lifts his huge paw and flops it down onto Ian’s open hand. Ian laughs, delighted, and hands over the treat to an equally delighted Rocco. 

Mickey’s smiling too and Ian can still feel him watching him as he continues to happily pet Rocco, who has now decided Ian is a trusted friend. 

“Tell me about the dog that scared you,” Mickey says, sounding much more like a soft request than a teasing demand. 

So Ian does. 

— — 

“Man, Paula really was as batshit as everybody said then, huh?”

They’re slowly walking the length of the rec yard, Rocco happily padding along between them as they talk. 

Ian huffs and shoves his hands into his pocket. “And then some,” he mumbles. 

“What a way to go, though. Hammer thrown through a window by a pissed off ex,” Mickey whistles and shakes his head. “That’s probably the worst breakup story I’ve ever heard, man.”

“Doesn’t even break my top five,” Ian sighs, somewhat dramatically, and Mickey laughs shortly as he slows them to a stop. 

“Oh, that’s definitely a topic I’m gonna pull out of you after a few beers,” Mickey grins, and it takes everything inside Ian not to double take because, fuck, he did _not_ expect him to be interested in Ian’s breakup stories. 

“I bet Kenny’s got better stories,” Ian shrugs, but Mickey never replies. 

Instead, Mickey takes the leash off of Rocco and then throws a treat a few feet away. Rocco bounds after it excitedly, gobbling it up from the ground before trotting off to the other side of the yard to pee against one of the dead plant pots. 

“So, you’ve got just under two years here until your probation is over,” Mickey starts, looping the leash around his neck. 

Ian lets out a heavy breath. “Yeah, something like that.” 

“And before that you were an EMT?” Ian nods. “That’s a whole lot different to this place.”

“It’s still caring for something. I’m still helping, I guess. I mean, that’s really what I wanna do with my life.” 

Mickey grins and shoves at Ian playfully. “Man, you always were a fucking sap.”

“It’s all the fucking romcoms your sister made me watch,” Ian says, to which Mickey throws his head back to laugh. 

Ian doesn’t watch his throat extend. Doesn’t watch him swallow. Doesn’t watch his Adam’s apple bob softly. 

“She still emails me _unlikely animal friendships_ like twice a month.”

Something sad pulls at Ian’s chest as he remembers Mandy’s laugh or her excited and hopeful eyes whenever the couple in the movie finally got together. He misses having a friend like that, a friend with no expectations, no end game. Just comfortable company. 

“How is Mandy?” Ian can’t stop himself from asking. 

Mickey’s face looks like it’s about to get distant again but Rocco barks at something in the distance, making his eyes snap up to the dog and back to Ian. 

“She’s Mandy,” he shrugs. “She lives in New York now. I haven’t seen her in about a year but she keeps in touch.”

“Will you tell her I said hi?” Ian asks and Mickey sucks his lips between his teeth before nodding. 

“Of course, man.”

Ian smiles, genuinely. “Thank you.”

Mickey doesn’t let the moment linger, instead he whips off the leash from over his head and hands it over to Ian. 

“This is a standard rope slip leash,” he begins to explain as Ian awkwardly turns it over in his hands. “The dog’s head goes through the loop so you can lead them wherever you need them to go. This little brown tab will stop the leash getting too tight so they don’t choke themselves out.”

Ian slips his hand through the loop a few times. “What if they’re aggressive?”

“I won’t ever ask you to leash an aggressive dog, man. Let’s get you leashin’ a dog who knows your pale ass ain’t a threat.”

Mickey thumbs at his nose and then leans forward to tag a treat bag onto the belt loop of Ian’s jeans. 

Ian holds his breath for the few moments Mickey is so close, eyes fixed to the top of Mickey’s dark, feathered hair. When he steps back again, Ian loops the leash in his hands before turning towards Rocco, who stops sniffing at the fence when he notices Ian calmly approaching and raises his large fluffy head. 

“Hey, man,” Ian smiles, careful not to bare his teeth. He keeps his shoulders a little hunched so that he isn’t as tall and takes a few more steps towards the dog. 

Rocco sits as Ian gets closer, plonking his but down on the concrete and letting his tongue loll dopily from his mouth. 

“Wanna go for a nice stroll, huh? Or a nice treat?” He dips his hand into the bag and pulls out a treat. Rocco instantly bobs his head, totally on board with wherever this is going. 

Ian laughs and slips his hand with the treat through the loop, pushing it towards Rocco. The dog gently leans in to take the treat, not even noticing when Ian slips the leash over his head. 

Standing back beside Rocco, Ian smiles triumphantly at Mickey. 

“Well done,” Mickey says, clapping slowly with raised hands. “You got your pull-ups on now, fire crotch. You should be ready for your big boy pants soon.”

Ian smiles sweetly and waves his middle finger back. 

— — 

The guys are eating lunch at the picnic bench when Mickey and Ian get back from the rec yard. Ian’s holding Rocco’s leash and the treat bag bounces where it’s still clipped against his hip. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel great to fit in, even if it’s just a little. 

Just before they approach the lunch area, Mickey stops them and nudges his head towards his office. 

“Can you give Rocco to Earl? I’ve got a call I gotta take in the next few minutes, but I’ll be around later if anyone needs me.”

Ian nods. “Okay. Don’t you want one of your girlfriend’s sandwiches?”

He doesn’t know why he says it, or why there’s an ever so slight pang of jealousy in his gut when he does, and as soon as the words are out he wants to suck them back up. Mickey’s face quickly scrunches in confusion. 

“My what?”

Ian gestures behind them. “The sandwiches. The guys said they’re from some chick who’s got the hots for you.”

God dammit there’s that guarded, unreadable expression again. 

“Oh they did, huh?” Ian doesn’t say anything, just swallows and stares until Mickey shakes his head. “I got lunch in my office. Plus if I don’t get back soon Sweetie is gonna come looking for me like a pissed off parent.”

Ian chuckles and waves Mickey off as he heads for the stairs. 

“Hey, man! How was it?” Kenny asks as soon as Ian approaches. “I see you made a new friend. Hank will be heartbroken.”

Ian pets Rocco’s head for a few moments before Earl heaves himself up from the bench and throws his trash away. He takes the leash from Ian and feeds Rocco another treat. 

“Get some lunch, have a break,” Earl instructs. “Then come see me in the downstairs office. Mickey said the first aid box needs restocking, so I’m gonna need your help with the order.”

Ian perks a little at that. At least it’s something familiar, something where he doesn’t feel like a complete novice. 

“Sure, no problem,” Ian replies, taking a seat at the bench opposite Kenny and picking up one of the few remaining sandwiches. 

“How was it?” Kenny asks again.

“It was good, yeah. Lots to learn.” Ian replies as he starts to pick through his sandwich. 

“So, you think you’ll stick it out here then?” Kenny prods just as Ian takes a big bite. Damn, he’s really got that annoying little brother thing down to a fine art. 

Ian nods and chews quickly, trying not to choke as he rushes to answer. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I survived prison so I’m sure I can put up with you for the next twenty months.”

Kenny grins and throws a balled up napkin at Ian’s head. “Well, good news for you my probation is over in three months.”

Something within Ian twists in sadness. Damn, he’s known this kid for two days. He really is a sucker for a lost looking kid. “That’s awesome man, maybe then I’ll be able to get a decent one of Mickey’s girlfriends sandwiches.” It’s a bad joke, but Ian doesn’t think it’s so terrible that it warrants the shocked and confused faces of his colleagues. “What? What did I say?”

“Dude, Mickey’s gay!” Brian laughs. 

Everything inside Ian jumps, and he snaps his mouth closed to keep his heart from leaping out of his throat. 

“I thought he had an ex girlfriend who ran the diner,” he says hurriedly, trying to outrun the sudden wave of emotion that rushes towards him. 

Fuck. 

That’s it. 

That’s what Ian could see all those years ago, the familiar sadness he always saw in Mickey’s eyes. Fuck. A secret like that must have killed him, no wonder he was always so angry. And he _made_ Ian. He fucking knew Ian was gay and that Mandy was a beard and he never said a god damn word. 

“Never said girlfriend,” Ste points out as he lights another cigarette. 

Ian’s still a little shell shocked, and he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Shit, you didn’t.”

“Nope. You just assumed,” Brian chimes in.

“Not cool, gay Jesus,” Kenny fake scowls. 

Ian lets that one slide. “Fuck. So he’s like, _out_?”

Kenny shrugs. “Mickey doesn’t really do relationships, he’s more your _hit it and quit it_ kind of guy, which is why Eli can’t really let it go.”

“Eli?”

“Guy who owns the diner. They hooked up a few times but Mickey didn’t want to take it any further, took Eli a while to get the hint. He’s not closeted or anything, he just doesn’t talk about that stuff at all.”

“So how come you know all of this?”

Brian laughs and clamps a tattooed hand over Kenny’s shoulder. “Kenny’s favourite pastime is giving life advice to anyone older than he is.”

Ian rests his chin on his palm and sucks his teeth. “I’ve never had good life advice from anyone older than me.”

Kenny grins brilliantly. “Man, that’s exactly what Mickey said.”

— —

Ian can’t stop thinking about it on the journey home. He stares out of the train window at the city below, biting his nails and watching the colours of the evening dip into a purple hue. 

How could he not know? How could he have missed that? How could Mandy not know? Did she know? Why wouldn’t she have told him? 

_Because it’s none of your fucking business_ , his brain supplies helpfully, and Ian groans in frustration, lets his head thunk softly against the glass. 

He can’t imagine what that must have been like, being the closeted gay son of Terry Milkovich. The fear, the secrets, _fuck_ \- Mickey must have spent the majority of his life fucking terrified. It makes Ian’s heart ache. 

Coming out was hard for Ian, but in the end he always knew he’d have a soft place to land, a home full of people who would always love and accept him and have his back no matter what. That was probably why Ian never read the uncertainty in Mickey’s eyes as your typical south side queer fear. It was downright _terror_. 

Sure he and Fiona had their issues, but she loved him fiercely and accepted every part of Ian’s identity - same with Monica. Fuck, even _Frank_ just accepted Ian for who he was. 

Now _there’s_ a fucked up thought, someone making Frank fucking Gallagher look like father of the goddamn year. Ian understands why Mickey looked so stone faced when he’d brought up Terry’s passing, and now Ian wishes he’d congratulated him instead. 

When he gets off the train, Ian shoves his headphones in for the short walk home. His mind has been working overtime for the whole train journey, and he suddenly feels exhausted after trying to catch up with his spinning thoughts. 

He lets the loud music thump through his chest as he walks, drowning out the sound of his feet on the pavement, the cars passing by, saturating his head in the familiar melodies. 

🎵 _I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems blow. Welcome to the new age, to the new age. Welcome to the new age, to the new age._ 🎵

He breathes in deep as he tries to push away flashes from his past, of melancholy sweet blue eyes and the inexplicable feelings of guilt that swirls in his stomach when he thinks about young Mickey Milkovich. 

When he turns onto his street several minutes later, he passes by the neighbor with the loud and destructive looking bull terrier. Sure enough, the dog growls as Ian’s footfalls become louder, and instead of rolling his eyes and crossing the street, he stops and takes out his headphones. 

He can see something different in the dog now. The soundtrack of the last few days have been a warehouse full of dogs making every noise a dog could make, and where Ian would once see this dog’s growls as a menacing warning, he now feels like he’s hearing more fear than anything. 

“It’s okay,” Ian says, calm and quiet and as reassuring as possible. “You’re okay, buddy.”

The dog doesn’t growl again but it’s body is still rigid as it watches Ian carefully reach into his pocket and pull out a dog treat. 

The dog eyes the treat and swallows thickly.

“Good boy,” Ian praises, careful not to smile too wide, and tosses the treat over the fence. It lands at the dog’s paws and is instantly gobbled up. 

The dog lies down and silently stares at Ian with something that might look a little like gratitude. 

“You’re welcome,” Ian says, turning away and smiling to himself before he crosses the street and continues on home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly...THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE ON CHAPTER ONE! Thank you starting this journey with me. I know it can be hard to trust WIPs but I promise not to break your heart. 
> 
> Second: Yes, each chapter is named a different dog breed. That doesn’t mean the breed will necessarily be in that chapter, just that that breed has a strong characteristic in line with the overall theme of the chapter. 
> 
> Chapter one was Vizslas, as they’re big dopey red puppies that can struggle with anxiety. This chapter is Labrador Retriever as they’re great at learning new things! 
> 
> I’ll leave you guys to guess the reasoning of the breeds behind the remaining chapters 😊 
> 
> Third: Lyrics are from the track Radioactive by Imagine Dragons.
> 
> Fourth: Update coming Sunday!
> 
> Hit me up on  
> [Tumblr](https://wildxwired.tumblr.com)  
> [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/wildxwiredsays)


	3. Siberian Husky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian’s crush cranks up a notch.

Before Ian can blink it’s already the end of his first week. His sleep has gradually improved with each passing night the more he’s settled into the routine, and he’s enjoying the set hours, as opposed to changing shifts, a lot more than he thought he would. 

It’s doing him good - he knows it is. Every morning when he looks in the mirror before taking his meds, he notices he looks a little more rested each time. There are less red blotches around his cheeks and forehead, and the bags under his eyes are slowly unpacking. It turns out that _not_ working for a psycho who’s forcing you to commit insurance fraud does wonders for the skin, and he’s almost feeling like his old self again. 

The weather’s still on the up and up, which always lifts his mood. When he steps outside each early morning and feels the lukewarm sunshine on his rested skin, it reminds him that summer is just around the next corner. He might even start running again and build his fitness back up so he can walk all the way to the rescue before it gets too hot. 

The marathon jerk off sessions Ian’s been having every night before bed might also have some part to play in the lightness of his steps. He’s been keyed up every evening as he replays his daily interactions with his new boss over and over again, having quickly given up on his brief quest to not find the older man so god damn _attractive_ \- and now knowing, fucking _knowing_ , that he and Mickey bat for the same team is giving him all kinds of (probably) false hope. 

It’s probably the worst and most overly cliched idea in the world to have a crush on your boss, but Ian’s eyes have been drawn to Mickey since he was fifteen years old, so he figures he can cut himself at least some slack in that department. Besides, it’s not totally his fault. _Mickey’s_ the one with the intense eyes, crooked smile, and pillowy lips, not to mention the fact that he came straight out of incarceration and started rescuing fucking puppies! 

Come on. Ian’s only human, and there’s only so much his inner fifteen year old can take before he starts doodling Mickey’s name in his notebook and mashing their last names together. 

He’s been spending little slices of time one on one with Mickey as he assesses Ian’s interactions with dogs of varying temperaments and personalities, and Ian’s found himself looking forward to each short training session every day. 

Mickey’s just so damn good at what he does. The respect and love the dogs have for him is obvious to anyone, even if you don’t know shit about dog behaviour. It’s the way they just _look to him_ all the time for reassurance, waiting for even just the slightest nod from Mickey to show that he’s there and everything is okay. It’s quite beautiful to watch, really, and Ian finds himself enraptured every time Mickey interacts with the dogs he introduces him to. 

On Wednesday, Mickey had introduced him to Tavern, the most excitable cocker spaniel _in the world_ , whose propeller tail spun so fast Ian feared the little fellow might take off and just fly away. 

He’d laughed when Mickey brought the dog into the rec yard, expecting to be dealing with more difficult (and perhaps dangerous) dogs day by day, and when he’d voiced this to Mickey, Mickey had simply smirked and let Tavern off the leash to play before instructing Ian that he was to try and releash the excited animal. 

Ian eyed him curiously as he took the leash, wondering what the catch was. 

For twenty minutes Ian ran after the dog, chasing him around the rec yard trying desperately to keep his voice light and happy. Tavern clearly thought this was all just a game and he yapped excitedly as they ran around the yard. At one point Ian had gotten so close to success, quietly creeping up on the pup as he sat there panting and staring at a flock of birds resting on a nearby roof. Just as Ian lunged, Tavern barked happily and took off, darting between Ian’s legs and sending him sprawling across the ground in a flail of limbs and fur. 

The roar of Mickey’s laugh rang out across the yard and Tavern barked along excitedly, positively thrilled that he and his new red haired playmate were making Mickey look so happy. Honestly, Ian was pretty happy about it too - despite the near crippling embarrassment. 

Mickey didn’t tease him for too long, and he showed Ian the art of persuasion when it comes to getting excited dogs to listen. It turned out to be a lot like calming down his younger siblings, all distraction and tasty bribes. 

He had fortunately managed to redeem some of his dignity the following day with his new bff Hank the coonhound. Hank had followed Ian around like his first serious boyfriend back in highschool, same dopey eyes and kisses with overly aggressive tongue. Mickey had brought Rocco along too, using Hank to demonstrate how confident dogs can help nervous ones feel more at ease. 

Sure enough, Rocco had stuck to Hank’s side as Ian led them around the rec yard towards two doorless crates Mickey had placed there earlier. Hank had immediately smelled the tasty treats hiding inside and plodded right into the crate to gobble them up. Rocco had waited for a few wary moments, eyeing the crate curiously before he’d finally stepped inside, following Hank’s example and earning the same reward. 

Ian had grinned happily, pressing a hand to his own cheek in adoration. It was then he’d seen Mickey studying him in his peripheral vision, though he’d told himself it was purely a professional observing a novice and nothing more. 

Maybe. 

— — — 

Ian’s got his headphones on as he rides the train to work, head tilted as he stares at a half torn advert for bail bonds, listening to disgustingly hopeful songs and purposely not thinking about blue eyes. Not at all. 

🎵 _I never understood before, I never knew what love was for. My heart was broke my head was sore - what a feeling._  
_Caught up in ancient history, I didn't believe in destiny. I look up you're standing next to me - what a feeling._ 🎵

Fuck. 

He’s so unbelievably screwed. 

\-- -- -- -- 

“You _have_ to help me,” Kenny pleads to Ian as he paws over the sandwiches at Friday’s lunch. “Mickey’s extra grouchy today, he won’t listen to me. I _know_ this is a great idea. It’s gonna work, he’s just too stubborn to see that.”

Kenny’s been pushing Mickey for months to do more events, but Mickey’s disdain for the general (human) public makes him a picky little shit over which adoption drives they attend. Two days ago Kenny was energised and overly bouncy with the idea to use some of the dogs ready for rehoming as reading therapy dogs for struggling kids from shitty areas, after seeing his young nephew read his favourite bedtime story to his Labrador best friend. 

It’s a really sweet idea, but Mickey clearly doesn’t agree, no matter how much Kenny persists (and boy, does he persist). 

Ian frowns. “And what makes you think I can convince him if you can’t?”

Kenny lets out a long and dramatic sigh. “Because! You’re older than me and you’re southside and you have a very trustworthy face.”

Ian eyes the younger boy skeptically. He’s not buying it. 

Brian snorts and passes Ian a bottle of water from the pack. “Plus, he already asked all of us to talk to him and we said no.”

_Bingo._

“I was saving the best til last,” Kenny argues. 

Ernez snatches the sandwich tray from in front of Kenny and snags a three cheese sub. “You’re deluded if you think Mickey’s gonna let a bunch of kids in here, man.”

Kenny huffs, exasperated. “The kids wouldn’t be _here_. We’d go to them.”

“Oh, well in that case,” Ernez starts and Kenny instantly perks up. “Still no.”

Kenny scowls and folds his arms with another annoyed huff. He looks like a ten year old Carl who's just been refused a toke on a joint, the memory making Ian smile fondly. 

“Well _excuse me_ for wanting to rehome dogs and help the community,” he grumbles. 

It’s that moment that Mickey appears from inside the warehouse with tools in his hands and a grim look of determination etched onto his face. Ian watches him cautiously. Fuck, he really does look like he’s in a fowl mood. 

Mickey approaches them on his way to the rec yard, taking in Kenny’s no doubt pleading expression. Mickey’s scowl deepens. “You still whining about that fucking therapy thing, kid?”

Kenny rolls his eyes and mumbles something that sounds a lot like _jackass_ , but he knows better than to audibly insult Mickey Milkovich when he’s in a mood. 

Ian holds back his smirk. Turns out there are some things even a glow up can’t fix.

“What was that, mumbles?” Mickey prods with no real threat, just annoyance. Kenny stays silent and waves him off before pulling out his phone and pretending to busy himself. Mickey doesn’t push, just sets his gaze on Ian. “No training today, Red. Gotta put the shade shelter up. Feel free to help if you feel like being useful.”

Mickey disappears around the back of the building before Ian can answer. 

“Jesus, what’s up his ass?” Ian says as he watches after him. 

“Probably got another call from CTS,” Brian explains.

“CTS?”

“Chicago Transformation Society,” Kenny supplies helpfully. “They’re buying up most of this block for community projects.”

Ian pulls a face. “Isn’t an animal rescue a community project?”

Kenny shrugs. “Not the right kind, apparently. They’ve been hounding Mickey for the last few months about this place and he gets fucking pissy every time they call.”

Gentrification is nothing new to the southside. It’s been slowly creeping in like weeds over the last few years in the form of coffee shops and ironically named thrift stores, and now it seems that even charities and rescues aren’t safe. 

Earl takes two bottles of water from the cooler and sets them in front of Ian. “You better go make sure he doesn’t destroy whatever he builds.” 

Kenny winces. “Yeah, remember when he broke apart that wooden kennel with his bare hands?”

The parolees all nod and mumble in solidarity. 

Ian pulls the bottles towards his chest, torn between eagerness and caution at the thought of trying to deflate a pissed off Mickey Milkovich. “Great, thanks guys.” 

\-- -- -- -- 

When he makes his way to the rec yard some ten minutes later, Ian hears the clanging of a hammer against metal before he even sees Mickey. The noise is jangly and angry in a way that’s eerily threatening, even for something that’s already as violent as hammering. 

Mickey’s crouched facing away from Ian, sweat already collecting beneath his grey t-shirt as he hammers a metal peg into the foot of a steel pole. His blue jeans are riding low enough that Ian can see the elastic of his boxers and Ian _swears_ they look like briefs. If he gets closer and they say Calvin Klein he might actually die. 

Ian takes a deep breath and pushes open the gate.

As soon as the sound of metal scraping against gravel echoes out through the yard, Mickey twists quickly before Ian can see anything, face set in a slightly softer scowl than before. 

Ian holds out one of the bottles of cool water as a peace offering, approaching Mickey with steady sure steps like he’s trying to leash a nervous dog. Mickey downs his tools and stands, accepting the bottle as soon as Ian’s within reach.

Their fingers brush momentarily, Ian’s skin already damp from the condensation on the cold plastic, and when he pulls his hand back he resists the urge to press it to his warm face in hopes of calming the flush he can feel creeping into the swell of his cheeks. 

“Thanks,” Mickey grunts, still sounding a little unhappy but now with a more relaxed expression, smooth brows and loose jaw. He rips open the sports top and drains half the water, Adam’s Apple rolling in hypnotising waves as he swallows each deep gulp. 

Ian glances away before he gets caught staring and takes a few small, awkward sips from his own bottle. 

When Mickey lowers his drink with a satisfied _ahh_ , he looks considerably less pissed. 

“Am I an asshole?” he suddenly asks, and Ian hooks his brow with a shit eating grin. Mickey quickly rolls his eyes and huffs. “I didn’t mean in general,” he clarifies. 

“Oh, good,” Ian replies, still smirking. “Wouldn’t want to have to lie to the boss in the first week.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey says with zero venom and just the slightest quirk of a smile. “You know what I meant.”

Ian can’t deny the thrill that Mickey asking for his input brings, though he finds himself running through possible responses in his head, anxious that he might say the wrong thing. The Mickey Ian remembers was everyone’s least favourite smug southside thug, so for _that_ Mickey his interactions were positively delightful. This glow up Mickey, however...he isn’t sure. 

“Asking someone with a mental illness probably isn’t your safest bet,” he responds after a few moments and Mickey quickly scoffs. 

“Fuck off. That’s a bullshit cop out, Gallagher, and you know it.” 

Mickey knows Ian’s bipolar. Hell, half the country knows Ian’s bipolar thanks to the news coverage of the height of his mania. He’s not ashamed, not anymore, but he knows people still judge him for it, still weigh his entire personality on one shitty diagnosis. 

But Mickey sees through that and Ian can’t help but smile at the realisation that Mickey hasn’t brought up his illness even once, whereas Paula had honed in on that shit as soon as possible, using it to make Ian feel like a lifelong fuck up. 

“So, maybe you were a little bit of an asshole to Kenny,” he finally admits.

Mickey lets out a long breath and winces, looking genuinely disappointed. “Fuck, I knew it.”

Ian leans back against the fence and toys with the lid of his bottle. “He’ll forgive you. Kenny’s a good kid.” 

“Yeah, he is. He’s a real good kid and he’s got lots of great ideas, like— the kid is _scary_ motivated. And he’s got these fucking wounded puppy eyes. Fuck,” Mickey pauses briefly to smile and flick his gaze back up to Ian as he thumbs at his nose. “He kind of reminds me of you actually.”

Ian snorts a laugh. “What?”

“High school you with your fucking freckles and your sappy baby face, and— I don’t know,” Mickey says quickly, all wide hand gestures, words stumbling a little like he could possibly, maybe, be ever so slightly flustered. 

Ian might be flustered too if he wasn’t so busy being absolutely _thrilled_ at Mickey’s sudden awkward fumble, even if the older man only lets it last a second before he shakes his head and tells Ian to fuck off with a laugh. 

“You want some help?” Ian asks as he nods towards the single standing pole. 

“Sure, you wanna hold or you wanna hammer?”

Ian’s tongue feels too big for his mouth as his lips stretch into a smirk. Mickey doesn’t flinch, makes no further indication of innuendo or embarrassment, just holds Ian’s gaze. 

“Never passed up an opportunity to hammer something,” he shrugs, not missing the way Mickey sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and furrows his brows. 

Ian breaks the stance first, brushing by Mickey to pick up the hammer from the ground. He snags a few metal pegs and drops them into Mickey’s hand. 

They work together to erect the remaining three poles, and Ian’s glad he’s facing the ground as Mickey’s strong thick thighs remain at eye level as Ian pounds the pegs into the ground, rooting the poles to the spot. 

“Y’know, I go to therapy once a week,” Ian says when they stop for a water break. Mickey lights his cigarette, eyes flickering over Ian’s face behind the flame of the lighter. “Every Saturday morning,” he continues through Mickey’s silence. “I thought it was bullshit at first, felt so fucking awkward, y’know? Talking about shit I didn’t even wanna tell my family, let alone some stranger. The office creeped me the fuck out, too. I hated how fucking clinical it all looked.”

Mickey offers the cigarette to Ian and leans back against the fence, regarding him with intense interest. “What did you do?” 

Ian takes a slow drag and tries not to think about the way Mickey’s plump lips have created a curve in the filter that Ian’s mouth slots into perfectly. 

“I told him,” he finally says, exhaling the smoke through his words. “Said the whole look and feel of therapy just creeped me out, made me feel defensive. He said that was normal, especially for people who grew up like we did, having to deal with CPS and just constantly being looked down on by authority. He said it fucks us up, the whole couch and armchair set up, makes us untrusting and less likely to seek help when we’re older.”

Mickey grunts. 

“So he took me to a bar,” Mickey’s brows instantly pulled together in a concerned confusion and Ian huffs a breathy laugh. “Not like that, man. The guy’s in his sixties and married to his highschool sweetheart.”

Mickey shrugs and takes the cigarette back. “Why the fuck he take you to a bar then?”

“Not just any bar, he took me to The Alibi, to my local bar. We sat and had a beer and he asked me to tell him about the place, the memories I had there, the good and bad ones. Before I knew it I was opening up to this guy like we were war buddies.”

Mickey sighs, takes another drag and holds it out again. When Ian takes it, their fingers brush. “Why you telling me this, man?”

“Because being somewhere I knew and just having a beer and doing something low-key, it helped me open up, to talk about the shit I needed to. I think that’s what Kenny is trying to do for these kids, y’know? Let them have something that gets their guard down without them realising it. Help them in the long run, like we never had.” 

Mickey tilts his head back and chuckles. “Fuck, you’re a sneaky bastard, Gallagher.”

Ian hands the cigarette back with a smile and a shrug. 

Mickey scrubs a hand over his face before taking another drag and then stubbing the cigarette out on the fence. 

“Come on,” he sighs dramatically. “Let’s get this shelter finished before we give Kenny the news. If he pees with excitement, you’re cleaning it up.” 

Ian beans brilliantly. 

“Deal. Hand me my hammer.”

—  
—

Having a weekend to himself is a foreign concept to Ian. Before, on the rig, Paula would always give him the weekend shift, spouting some crap about every Sparky having to pay his dues. Actually having a Saturday night to himself feels good, really fucking good, like _bone deep_ satisfying as he pulls two beers from the fridge when he gets home after therapy and drops down onto the couch next to Carl, handing him one of the cold bottles.

They twist off the caps in unison and clink the necks together before relaxing back and propping their feet up on the coffee table. Ian kicks off his sneakers before slouching down and repositioning his long legs that are sore from the three mile run he actually managed to get in this morning. 

From the armchair, Liam hands over the share bag of chips he’s already halfway through, and Ian feels the most content he’s felt in months. There’s no illegal and ethically fucked up job to stress over, no questionable new cell mate and no looming mania attack. Just the comfort and safety of his little brothers and the Ice Age movie they all secretly love. 

Over the course of the movie, the rest of the Gallagher clan trundles in, returning from their day’s events and taking up a spot in the living room to watch the movie and argue over who’s getting up for more snacks. 

Ian smiles to himself on his way back to the kitchen, pulling open the cupboards to fill his arms with snacks. 

—  
—

On Sunday afternoon, Ian’s doing laundry when his phone vibrates from the kitchen counter. 

**Unknown: As I live and breathe… Ian Gallagher, my first love.**

**Ian: Justin Timberlake?**

**Unknown: That’s YOUR first love, assface!**

“Mandy!” Ian laughs giddily, dropping the balled up pair of socks he’s currently holding and hopping up on top of the dryer, fingers flying eagerly over his screen to save the number. 

**Ian: Mandy! Fuck! How are you? It’s been so long.**

**Mandy: Could say the same to you, Gallagher. What? No phone call or text or postcard from your cult? Fuck. You know I love a good cult ☹️**

Ian smiles and shakes his head softly. It’s been a while since someone cracked a joke about Gay Jesus that didn’t make him feel like shit. Fuck, he’s missed talking to Mandy. He’d forgotten how easy it was to just _talk_ to her. 

**Ian: Buy you a drink to apologise next time you’re in town?**

**Mandy: Free booze and your handsome face? Take me to your leader!**

**Ian: How’d you know it’s still handsome?**

**Mandy: I keep tabs on the news back home.**

**Ian: Prison could have changed me. I could have nasty shiv scars and face tattoos!**

**Mandy: I have been assured your face is doing just fine 😏**

_What?_ Ian’s legs suddenly feel like lead, heavy like they’re going to pull him crunching right down through the dryer. Surely she couldn’t mean…that’s impossible… 

Wait. 

**Ian: Hey, how did you get my number?**

**Mandy: What? Is this not 1-800-Hot-Jesus?**

_Fuckin’ Milkoviches…_

**Ian: Ha. Ha. It’s gay Jesus, actually.**  
**Ian: And I’m serious**

**Mandy: Little birdie told me you’d been asking about me. I said I wanted to know if those were your real abs on all the gay Jesus photos. Then he flipped me the little birdie!**

Ian inhales quickly, choking on a single glob of spit that shoots to the back of his throat. He coughs and sputters, the phone fumbling clumsily between his hands as he tries to regain composure. 

**Ian: Scrffgggygggg**

“Fuck,” he grumbles, rubbing at his throat as he thumbs back over his screen. 

**Mandy: 😂 what was that, clumsy thumbs?**

Ian could go for nonchalance or just straight up ignorance, but if Mandy’s anything like she was in high school, she’ll blow right through that facade. 

**Ian: Fuck off 🖕🏻**

**Mandy: It’s like talking to the little birdie again!**

**Ian: How’s New York?**

**Mandy: Smooth segue, Ginger Jesus. It’s busy and people are rude as fuck but the pizza’s good. You should come see me sometime! Y’know, when you’re allowed to leave the state again and you’re not too busy bird watching 👀**

How does she still know him so well?

 **Ian: I hate you**

It’s thirty minutes later, after continuous back and forth texting with Mandy as they catch each other up on their lives since high school, that Ian gets another message. 

**Unknown: Hey just FYI Mandy’s probably gonna message you soon. Gave her your number, hope you don’t mind.**  
**Unknown: It’s Mickey, btw.**

Ian’s legs feel heavy again as he thinks about Mickey waiting to text, wondering if the nerves that are currently seeping into Ian’s thumbs halted Mickey for a moment too. 

Maybe. Just, maybe. 

Something kicks low in Ian’s stomach. 

Fuck. 

He’s so unbelievably screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still over the moon with all your feedback! THANK YOU SO MUCH ☺️ I really can’t tell you what it means to me. 
> 
> This was a bit of a shorter chapter, but most chapters will be around 6k, probably getting longer as the story progresses. 
> 
> Lyrics in this one are from Aqualung’s Brighter Than Sunshine 🌞
> 
> Next update coming on Thursday!


	4. Staffordshire Bull Terrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey open up to each other.

“Hey, Earl. Can you take the pack for me tonight?” Mickey asks as he pops his head around the office doorway the following Wednesday. He’s got Sweetie tucked under one arm, his hand splayed over her dark chest as she surveys the room disapprovingly. 

Ian looks up from where he’s treating a bee sting on Brian’s face, not missing the way Mickey’s eyes seem to drag over him for a moment. 

They’ve been texting back and forth a little for the last two evenings, mostly Ian asking what surely must be dumb questions about dog behaviour. Ian has told himself, very strictly, not to let his little crush get to his head and to only engage with said crush about work related topics. Naturally this leads to Ian thinking of the most inane things to ask, just so that Mickey will keep texting him. 

**Ian: What do I do if a dog looks like he wants to eat me?**

**Mickey: Stop looking like a snack.**

Ian’s reminded how frustrating trying to read between the lines of a text conversation is— if there are even any lines at all considering Mickey’s been his (now) usual _friendly asshole_ self in person. 

Without looking up from the laptop, Earl waves a hand in Mickey’s general direction. “Yeah, sure. Where you off? That build site again?”

Mickey flicks his eyes back to Ian again, face tilting in a questioning confusion as Ian dabs at Brian’s red cheek, before finally answering “Uh huh.”

“All night?”

Mickey shakes his head and shrugs. “If that’s what it takes.”

“Can’t go alone, man. You know the rules.”

Mickey huffs and rolls his eyes. “I know the rules. I made those rules for you guys.”

Earl still doesn’t move his gaze from the screen on his laptop, where he’s currently browsing the shelter’s emails. “And you should lead by example. Take newbie.” He gestures blindly to Ian. “He hasn’t been trapping yet.” 

“And he’s been doing kennels on his own now for three days,” Brain pipes up, grinning at Ian. (For some reason Brian and Kenny both like to shoot little smirks at Ian whenever Mickey is around.) Brian’s got his back to Mickey but can see Ian’s face clearly, so Ian can’t even glare at Brian. He _can_ poke him in the bee sting, however. 

“Oops, sorry,” Ian says with zero innocence. 

Mickey leans against the frame and grunts, causing Sweetie to growl grumpily. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, whatever. You free tonight, Red? No Ginger Vampires of America meeting to get to?”

Ian flips him off. “You should know we only meet under the blood moon, dog boy.”

Mickey grins and flips him off in return, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “Alright, Gallagher. Bring your big girl panties and your prison yard muscles.” 

“You betcha,” Ian says carelessly, like his stomach hasn’t just dropped with nervous excitement. 

——

Mickey had announced first thing Monday morning that Ian had passed basic training. He’d handed over an XK9 T-shirt and Ian’s own black loop leash, and everyone had clapped and cheered and patted him on the back. It felt good, really fucking good. 

Now Ian’s on his third day of solo kennel cleans, and it’s tiring as hell and doesn’t go as fast, but it’s twice as rewarding. He gets into a rhythm with it, already knowing the dogs on the old timer’s row well enough that they’re super happy to see him. Hank and Esmerelda are probably his favourites, though Ian’s yet to come across a single dog in there he doesn’t want to pet and shower with treats and affection. He doesn’t expect that to change when he gets to the mean ones. 

Mickey joins them at the lunch table to talk to Earl, he’s got the loopy pit bull brothers, Raph and Don, with him, and Mickey feeds them both pieces of a ham sandwich (though doesn’t eat any himself, Ian notes.)

Ian listens to Kenny talk excitedly to Mickey about the kids project, hands twice as animated as usual as he gushes about how enthusiastic his little nephew’s teacher is about the whole idea. Mickey nods along and let’s Kenny’s excitement continue to bubble away, until—

“What? No _way_ am I going to a PTA meeting. Why can’t you do it?” Mickey demands. 

“Because it’s _your_ Rescue, man. You’re the one with the vision and all the fancy prison-earned qualifications. You’re the southside underdog who turned shit around and made something of himself. That’s who’s gonna convince a room full of taxpayers, dude, not my fraudulent ass.”

Mickey looks positively perplexed as he squirms under the compliment. Ian tries to hold back a smirk as he munches on his chicken sandwich, eyes flickering back and forth between Kenny and Mickey, eagerly awaiting the comeback. 

“Whatever,” Mickey huffs with a quick eye roll for effect. “I’ll do it.” 

Kenny claps like Franny does when it’s chocolate pancakes for dinner.

——

“Yo, Gallagher. Meet me by the van in twenty,” Mickey calls over his shoulder as he helps load his dogs into the trunk of Earl’s minivan. 

Ian nods and pulls out his phone to text the Gallagher family group chat not to worry if he doesn’t come home before everyone’s in bed. Liam’s the only one who replies, as usual. 

“Wanna grab some dinner?” Mickey asks as they climb into the front seats of the Rescue’s only van. 

“Sure. I’m easy.” 

Mickey laughs, and Ian would be embarrassed by the innuendo but he’s too busy smiling at the infectious sound of Mickey’s amusement. 

“Tacos?” Mickey asks as he turns out of the small Rescue parking lot like he’s already made the decision. 

“Yeah,” Ian nods. “I could go for some tacos.”

“Awesome, I know just the place.”

 _Just the place_ turns out to be a fluorescent street food truck a few blocks away. There’s a few people milling around, but only one or two waiting for food. 

As soon as they approach the van, an older Mexican woman grins at them with thin painted lips. She waves and bats her eyelashes flirtatiously at Mickey.

"Hola, Mickey. Te ves delicioso hoy."

The young teen next to her looks up from the grill with a groan. He blows at his dark fringe and swipes it back under his hairnet.

"Deja de coquetear, abuela. Ya sabes que es gay." He gestures at Mickey with his spatula, and Ian can’t speak a lick of Spanish but that doesn’t leave much room for interpretation. “Hi, Mickey,” the teen adds. 

Ian catches Mickey side glancing at him, probably checking for a reaction, but Ian schools his expression to nonchalance and stares straight ahead.

“Hector,” Mickey nods in acknowledgement, just as Hector’s grandmother replies,

"No en mis sueños!"

Hector’s face falls to disbelief and then quickly scrunches in disgust. "Qué diablos, abuela? Ve a pararte en frente del refrigerador antes de que tenga que enfriarte con la manguera!" He points to the side door with his spatula, and his grandmother simply rolls her eyes, unbothered.

"Cómo pudo mi hija criar tamaño aguafiestas?” She turns back to Mickey and fans her fingers in a delicate wave. “Adiós, Mickey.”

“Bye, Rosa,” Mickey grins, clearly more amused by Rosa’s pointless (and apparently repetitive) flirting than Hector is. 

“Te veo en mis sueños." She blows him a seductive kiss and then exits and disappears behind the truck. 

“What did she say this time?” Mickey asks with an entertained laugh. 

Hector grimaces. “Man, you don’t even want to know. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Ian,” Mickey says, offering no further explanation. No ‘This is Ian from work’ or ‘This is Ian, a new parolee’. Ian kind of likes it, it’s almost comforting; unlike the way Hector drags his eyes up and down Ian with a smirk. 

“Hi, Ian. I’m Hector.” Ian gives an awkward smile and small wave. “Mickey’s my best customer, so any friend of his is a friend of Taco Truck. What can I get you?” 

Just as Ian starts to anxiously eye the menu and quickly pick something to avoid the dreaded awkward silence whilst he decides on a dish, Mickey pulls out his wallet and orders for them both. 

“Two chicken tacos and a couple Mexican Cokes, when you can.”

Hector uncaps two cokes beneath the counter and slides them over. “You put your money away, Mickey Milkovich. Go grab a seat and I’ll bring your order over when it’s done.”

They manage to snag one of the few plastic garden tables and chairs, and when they sit opposite each other Ian stares at Mickey until the other man arches a brow questioningly at him. “What?”

“How did you know what I wanted?” Ian isn’t bothered by it, normally he would be but with the way Mickey’s smirking at him, he doesn’t mind one damn bit. Plus, he was leaning towards chicken tacos anyway. 

“You can’t come to the Taco Truck and _not_ get tacos. I’m also betting that after many Mexican Mondays inside, it’ll be awhile before you can look at ground beef again.” 

Ian grimaces at the memory. Fuck, now that he thinks about it he has avoided beef since his release. Prison was nothing but reused chilli and dried out hamburgers. 

“Oh god, thanks for catching that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, all the food from here is great but it took me awhile to give beef a chance again. Had enough questionable meat in prison to last a lifetime.”

Ian happens to just be taking a sip of his Coke when Mickey finishes his sentence, and as he tries to breathe, laugh, gasp and swallow all at the same time, he ends up choking until his eyes are watering. Whether Mickey realised the joke when he said it or not, he seems absolutely delighted by Ian’s reaction, and he leans back in his seat and belly laughs until Ian is laughing too. 

When the laughter dissipates, Mickey flicks his eyes over Ian’s face with a slow smile. Ian finds himself searching Mickey’s face too, wondering if this maybe, possibly, might be a _moment_. 

“Alright, here we are,” Hector announces, tearing Mickey’s gaze away from Ian as Hector sets a basket of tacos and another of nachos between them. “Enjoy your food, guys.” Hector gives them a wink and clasps a hand on Mickey’s shoulder before leaving them to their dinner. 

On the first bite, Ian decides Mickey can make all his culinary decisions from now on as the tender, lightly spiced and exceptionally flavoured, grilled chicken and the best damn guac he’s ever tasted lights up his mouth. 

“Oh my god,” Ian moans, a little more pornagraphic than he intended to. Mickey’s smiling coyly, obviously pleased with himself. 

Eating tacos is not a pretty affair. It’s probably on the list of Worst Foods To Eat Around The Guy You Like, right under all you can eat ribs and any kind of long pasta or noodles. To Ian’s relief, Mickey doesn’t seem to notice as he chomps messily through his own tacos, getting crumbs down his shirt and a smear of sour cream at the corner of his top lip. Ian tries not to stare at it or lick his own lips as if he’s got something there. Eventually, Mickey wipes it away with his napkin and Ian is both disappointed and relieved. 

When they’re down to the last few handfuls of nachos, they’re already an hour deep into classic south side stories. 

“Is the Kash and Grab even still open?” Mickey asks when they talk about summer jobs. 

“Yeah, Linda still has it last I heard.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Man, she scared the crap out of me.”

“Yeah, she had some anger issues.”

Mickey thumbs his nose and scoffs. “Anyone would with that sorry excuse for a husband.” The bite in Mickey’s words surprises Ian, but he tries not to let it show. 

“Yeah, probably wasn’t your biggest fan either. Remember when you got out of juvie and I tried to get you a job? Fuck, he flipped his shit.” 

Ian doubts that Mickey even remembers, back then he used to just grunt and mumble at everything Ian said, and he hadn’t seemed hopeful when Ian said he’d ask or even look bothered when Ian told him there were no jobs at the store. He’s surprised to see something fierce and rigid in Mickey’s eyes now. 

Mickey looks down at his empty Coke bottle and shrugs. “Probably didn’t wanna work with the guy who beat the shit out of him.”

Ian blinks. “You beat the shit out of Kash? When? _Why_?” 

“I went over there to case the place one night. Lights were on and there was a van round back so I thought there was a delivery or something that I could lift from, but then I heard some weird noises coming from the van.” Ian’s stomach drops and he suddenly feels like he’s about to have a very poor relationship with chicken tacos, too. He remembers getting to work one morning and Kash’s face was an absolute mess. He simply explained he’d been mugged, and the following week he left for good. 

Ian must look anxious as hell because Mickey pauses, staring curiously at him. 

“Holy fuck,” Ian breathes. “You saw us?” Mickey nods slowly, face now frustratingly unreadable. “Why didn’t you beat me up?” Is the first thing Ian thinks to ask. The Milkoviches were known for their homophobic slurs and queer bashings, and even though Mickey was closeted he’d hurl various fag related insults at anyone who looked at him for too long back then. 

Mickey frowns. “What? Why the fuck would I beat you up? What the fuck did you do wrong?”

“I mean, I was doing it too,” Ian explains, and Mickey suddenly looks genuinely distressed. 

“You were fifteen, man! That fucking creep should have gone to jail for what he did.”

Ian’s chest swells. Fuck. No one had ever really said that to Ian before. Well, aside from his prison appointed therapist that is. Mickey was protecting him. Mickey Fuck-U-Up Milkovich was protecting his little sister’s gay best friend from a predator, because it was the right thing to do. 

“So, uh—it wasn’t about the gay sex, then?” Ian asks with a growing smirk. 

Mickey quickly rolls his eyes and waves a dismissive hand. “Well, obviously. That would have been pot calling the kettle queer.”

Ian pulls a ridiculous face at the terrible joke but still promptly bursts into laughter. Mickey follows, laughing light and care free and Ian thinks it’s quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds. 

“Come on, let’s get going. We need the daylight to set up the trap,” Mickey says before standing to clear away their table. 

— — 

The build site is on the outskirts of the city where an old mall had been demolished last year. It’s mostly rubble and delivered materials waiting for use, anything too heavy for your average thief to make off with in the night. The chain link fence surrounding the site is tattered and loose as it clinks and rattles away with the slightest breeze. 

Mickey pulls into the old parking lot, stopping by mounds of tarp covering several pallets of bricks.

“What would a dog be doing all the way out here?” Ian asks as Mickey pulls back the sliding door on the van. “Why wouldn’t they just wander off to go find a neighborhood with food or something?” 

They reach for the collapsed crate, pulling it out and onto the ground together. 

“If they’ve been abandoned, they’ll usually stay near the dump site. Sometimes they do leave the area, but most of them will wait for their owner to return no matter what.” 

“Fuck, that’s heartbreaking,” Ian frowns. He watches Mickey expertly erect the crate in no time at all before helping to lift the crate and carry it towards a large empty skip. 

“People don’t always realise the bond dogs can have with their human, even a really shitty one. They’re pack animals, completely family orientated,” Mickey explains. “They’re like the experts of second chances, y'know? They remember the good in people even if it hasn’t been there in years.” 

The words twist in Ian’s chest. “I can relate to that.”

Mickey huffs. “Can’t we all.”

Ian stretches after they place the crate nestled amongst some building supplies. Mickey pulls a corner of tarp over the roof of the crate before pulling open the door and leaning inside. Ian watches curiously, purposely not allowing his eyes to fall any lower than Mickey’s shoulders. 

“What was that?” Ian asks when he hears an audible _click_.

“Pressure plate,” Mickey says as he stands and brushes off his knees. “The door’s spring loaded. When the dog steps inside and checks out the food, the door’s gonna shut behind them.”

Ian’s impressed. The confidence rolls off of Mickey in waves as he has them quickly do a sweep of the site in case the dog is hanging around, and he teaches Ian about all the places dogs like to hide and how their habits change when they become strays. It’s incredibly and frustratingly attractive. 

They come up empty on the search, and on the way back to the car Mickey lights up a smoke. 

“We’ll stick around for a few hours to see if the dog shows. If not, we’ll call it a night and come back to check the trap tomorrow.”

Ian nods and reaches to snatch the cigarette from Mickey, who merely smirks in response.

— — 

It’s half an hour later that it starts to rain. It’s not much, just soft quiet pattering against the windshield, but Ian’s stomach still sinks as he presumes Mickey will stop telling the story of how he met Hector and announce they call it quits. 

But the announcement never comes. Mickey doesn’t even acknowledge the rain, just continues to talk with lots of expressive hand gestures. Ian quickly tunes out the rain and settles back into Mickey’s company. 

“So then after the warden showed me where they’d hold the dog program, he had Hector and another kid show me around the rest of the juvie centre. Hector was just full of questions, man. He didn’t stop for breath as he told me about his grandma’s chihuahuas. He said he was bummed to be getting out before the programme started, so I told him when he got out to come and do some volunteer work for us. He was a fucking phenomenal worker. He’d do anything for anyone and worked harder than the guys twice his age. He even got his grandma to adopt two other dogs from us.” 

Ian smirks. “I bet that didn’t take much convincing.”

Mickey flips him off. “Don’t start, it took me six months to get her to stop asking for more home visits.”

Ian cackles and Mickey shoves at his shoulder, which just makes Ian laugh harder. When he moves to dodge another shove from Mickey, Ian smacks his elbow off the door. “Fuck,” he laughs, rubbing over the offended joint. 

“See, that’s what you get,” Mickey grins.

Ian takes a breath as the throbbing in his elbow slowly subsides. 

“So why isn’t Hector a volunteer anymore?” 

Mickey smiles fondly. “Because he’s a fucking genius. He’d bring us food from home all the time. We assumed it was from his grandma or mom or something. Turned out Hector was the best damn cook in his neighbourhood. He said he’d always wanted to have a food truck, so we sat down with his probation officer and his grandma and applied for all the licences. The legal stuff is all in his grandma’s name but it’s his business.”

“Where’d he get the funding for that? Grandma?”

Mickey shrugs. “A little. Mostly me. I told him I’d invest in his startup if he kept himself out of trouble and he has. He’s eighteen now and that damn truck keeps getting more and more popular. He’s gonna end up with a whole fleet of them.” 

Ian can’t keep the smile off his face. “That’s great, Mick. He’s lucky he met you.”

Mickey shrugs again like the compliment itches at his shoulders. “Yeah. Plus, free tacos for life.”

“They were good,” Ian sighs dreamily. “Definitely worth putting up with the horny grandma.”

Mickey shoves at Ian’s shoulder. “Dick.”

“Hey, it’s flattering. Must be nice to get a little confidence boost every now and then.”

Mickey reaches for his smokes, but he doesn’t offer Ian one. Instead he lights up a single cigarette, takes a deep drag, and hands it over to Ian. “Yeah. Must’ve been fucking uplifting have a whole fan club.”

Ian shrugs. “Not really.” He takes a puff and stares out at the rain, and then it’s quiet for a moment. 

Dangerously close to letting a cloud of guilt and anxiety consume him, Ian doesn’t notice the cigarette burning away until Mickey plucks it from his fingers. 

“Wanna hear something fucked up?”

Ian smiles and presses his head back against the headrest. He knows Mickey’s trying to distract him and he appreciates it. 

“Depends. Wanna tell me something fucked up?”

Mickey exhales his drag and stubs out the cigarette against the dash. “I killed Terry.”

Ian laughs at first because, what the fuck? But Mickey isn’t looking at him at all and he’s not smirking like usual. “Wait...you’re serious?”

Mickey lights up another cigarette and nods. 

“I was nineteen. He caught me ass up with another guy, flipped his shit and attacked us. The guy bolted, but Casper saved me.”

“Casper?” Ian says softly. “Your dog?”

“She was more than that, man. She was my best fucking friend. I’d do anything for that dog. She protected me, jumped on Terry when he started pistol whipping me. I thought I was gonna die but she got him off me.”

“Fuck,” Ian breathes, his eyes fixed intently to Mickey’s face as Mickey continues staring out at the abandoned site. “Then what happened?”

Mickey’s jaw tightens. “He shot her.”

“Fuck! He killed her?”

“No way, she was tougher than that. He got her in the leg, was about to shoot again and I knocked the fucker on his ass and beat him in the face until I passed out.”

Ian swallows. Fuck. He knew Terry Milkovich was a grade A asshole, but this was another level of asshole. 

“And you got sent down for _that_? Fuck, that should have been self defence. You shouldn’t have gone down for that. Didn’t anyone say _anything_?”

“He didn’t die right away. He was in a coma at first. They held me in county because of some stupid fuckin’ hot glocks in the house. He died about three months later and I was charged with manslaughter. Lawyers tried to get the jury to feel sorry for me but it’s a tough sell when you’re a Milkovich, y’know?”

“Jesus, Mick. That’s...fuck. That’s—”

“— fucked up?” Mickey interjects with the smallest of smiles. 

“Fuck yeah,” Ian breathes. “I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you.” 

“Eh, don’t be,” Mickey shrugs, handing the cigarette back to Ian. “It ended up being the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. I got in the dog programme and everything just started to fit or some shit.”

“What happened to Casper?”

“She died of old age while I was inside. She lived it up with my brothers and Mandy. I didn’t get to see her again, but Mandy would send me pictures all the time.” Mickey has to stop to press his fingers into his eyes, and when he pulls back they’re slightly watery. “Fuck, I miss that dog.” 

Ian wants to reach out and comfort Mickey so fucking badly. He knows it’s the worst idea in the world, but his hand clearly doesn’t think the same way and before Ian knows it, he’s reaching out to squeeze Mickey’s arm softly. Mickey turns and regards Ian with a warm smile before pulling the cigarette from between Ian’s fingers and fitting it between his own lips. 

“So, what about you?” Mickey asks on the exhale. “I’ve told you my tragic tale. Where the fuck did Gay Jesus come from?” 

Ian laughs and then grimaces. “You really wanna know?”

Mickey grins. “Fuck yeah, fuck me up, Gallagher!”

So Ian tells him. He tells him _everything_. He tells him about going AWOL with the army, his diagnosis, Monica, EMT training, Trevor, the church, the kids, his breakdown - fucking _everything_. It all just spills out slowly and Mickey listens to every word, asks the occasional question or makes a non judgmental comment. It makes Ian feel safe. _Seen_. 

— — 

“Maybe we should call it a night,” Mickey says, peering out to the unrelenting rain. 

Ian shrugs. “I could give it another hour.”

Mickey grins and lights up another smoke. 

——

There’s a soft whining somewhere close by that pulls Ian slowly from his sleep. As he starts to register the noise more clearly, a very real pain jabs through his neck. He groans and sits up straight, rubbing at his eyes and cursing. 

They must have fallen asleep at some point, lulled by the soft rain and easy conversation. Now the sun is glaring through the windows and Ian feels like he’s slept in a cupboard. 

Mickey’s sleeping in the driver's seat, chin on his chest and face tilted slightly towards Ian. He looks peaceful, _beautiful_. Ian hadn’t realised how dark or long Mickey’s eyelashes were as they bat softly against pale cheeks - alway so distracted by the blue of his eyes. 

The whining starts up again, and Ian reluctantly pulls his eyes away from Mickey’s face. 

Outside the van, a meter or so from Ian’s door, a young black and grey dog sits staring at him. 

“Fuck,” Ian whispers, blindly reaching over to tug at Mickey’s leg. 

Mickey startles awake with a curse and Ian quickly shushes him and points out the window. Mickey blinks against the light for a few moments before sitting up in his seat and peering out of Ian’s window. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. 

“Think he’s trying to make our job easier? Or just fucking with us?” Ian asks quietly. 

“Her, she's a girl,” Mickey corrects. “There’s only one way to find out.” With that he tugs softly at the door handle and very slowly creeps out of the car. 

The dog makes an unsure grizzle, standing up and keeping her brown eyes attached to Mickey. 

“Hey, mama,” Mickey says, light and easy as he carefully rounds the van, stopping just by the bumper as the dog whines again. “Hey, girl. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

She backs up a little, but her thin tail wags softly. 

“You hungry?” Mickey asks, and she seems to know the word as her paws stomp a little on the ground. Mickey reaches into his pocket and pulls out a treat. 

Her tail wags harder and then she suddenly drops her butt to the floor obediently. Mickey grins.

“You’re a good girl, mama. Here you go.” He tosses the treat and she scarpers after it before returning to her sitting position. 

Ian winds down his window gingerly, and hands Mickey a rope leash. “Think she’ll bolt?” he whispers. 

Mickey shrugs. “She’s definitely a pet, but I’m not sure how long she’s been out here. She doesn’t seem afraid, so that’s good.” He tosses her another treat and praises her when she snaps it up. Clearly, she’s hungry. She doesn’t look skeletal but she’s definitely underweight, even Ian can see that. She’s dirty and looks tired as hell, but still she wags her tail every time Mickey calls her a good girl. 

They do eventually get the leash on her, Ian distracting her with praises as Mickey gets closer with every treat he feeds her until he finally slips the leash around her neck as he feeds her a treat from his hand. Ian sort of expects her to panic, but she barely even notices. 

“Good job,” Ian says as he steps out of the van to help load her in. 

Mickey’s checking her over carefully, just slowly moving around her to give her a visual once over. When he pets the top of her head, Ian can see that what he thought was grey fur looks like some sort of bumpy, scaly patches behind her ears. 

“Fuck.” Mickey scowls, huffing and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, mama.”

“What the fuck is that?” 

“Ticks,” Mickey replies. “A lot of fucking blood sucking bastards.”

Ian grimaces as the bloated grey sacks twitch. “That’s fucking disgusting. Poor thing.” He pets her head and she nuzzles into his hand. “She’s a sweetheart.” 

“She’s definitely been here a while after being dumped by some asshole. We got the call five days ago, she’s probably been here longer.” Mickey feeds her another treat and hands the leash to Ian. 

After setting out a bowl of water, which she instantly laps up, Mickey uses the distraction to quickly check for any injuries or more critters. 

“A couple more ticks on her stomach but she seems to be okay. We’re still gonna take her to Julie’s though.”

“Julie?”

“The vet we use. She works with other charities to give us really fucking discounted care for the dogs,” Mickey explains. 

“Jesus, fuck. I didn’t even think about that. God, that‘s gotta cost a fortune.”

“It’s worth it,” is all Mickey says before leading the dog into a crate in the back of the van. 

“Want me to go grab the trap?” Ian offers. 

“Nah. I’m gonna call Earl and let him know where we’re going. He’ll get one of the guys to come pick it up.” 

— — 

The vet’s practice isn’t far. The dog stays quiet throughout the ride and Ian drives so that Mickey can keep turning to check on her. Ian follows the directions Mickey gives, and pretty soon they’re pulling into the parking lot of the practice. 

“Damn, Gallagher. That was fast,” Mickey says and the pair of them both chuckle at the obvious joke. 

“EMT. You pick up the city pretty quick,” Ian explains. 

Once they’re all out of the van, Mickey offers over the leash to Ian and pets the dog between the ears as she looks back up at them with trust. 

“She needs a name. It’s your first rescue, so you get the honors.”

Ian takes over petting the dog’s head when Mickey pulls his hand back. “Hmm, think I’ll go with Summer.”

Mickey smiles. “Good choice.”

As soon as they enter the vets, the young receptionist jumps up and leans over the counter to peer down at the manky looking dog. 

“Oh you poor little thing,” she says kindly before looking up at the men with a cheery smile. “Hi, Mickey. Hi, Newbie.”

“Vanessa, Ian. Ian, Vanessa,” Mickey introduces. Ian waves awkwardly. “Our friend Summer here needs some help.” 

Vanessa nods and takes her seat, clacking away on the keyboard for a moment. “Julie’s in a consultation. Any emergencies or do you want to go clean the little one up?”

Mickey nods to the large window on his far right that looks into what appears to be an exceptionally clean dog grooming salon. “We’ll clean her up, no rush. We’re gonna need the tick removers.” 

— — 

“This is disgusting,” Ian complains as he grasps the small plastic tick remover in his gloved hand. 

“Imagine how she feels,” Mickey replies as he lifts the dog into the large mental sink/bath. 

Ian smooths his fingers over her back gently. “Will it hurt her?” 

“No, it’s uncomfortable but she doesn’t want them there anymore than we do.”

Mickey takes his own tick remover and parts the grey bumps behind Summer’s left ear. He slips the prongs of the remover around the base of the bulge, twists and pulls hard. Ian hears the ripping sound as it pops out of the dogs skin and he almost gags. Mickey holds the fat tick aloft in triumph and Ian can see the tiny legs wiggling. 

“Gotcha, you little bitch!” Mickey sings happily to the squirming insect. He picks up a cup of rubbing alcohol and drops the tick inside. “See you in hell, motherfucker.”

Ian rolls his eyes but can’t help but smile. He continues to pet at Summer’s back and she continues looking up with those trusting brown eyes. Ian really fucking hates bugs, but the urge to help Summer is stronger than his repulsion. 

“It’s okay, girl,” Ian says softly. “We’re gonna have you fixed up in no time.” 

When he looks up again, Mickey’s staring at him with something Ian can’t quite put his finger on. 

“You know how to do it?” Mickey asks. 

Ian breathes. “Yeah, twist and pull right?”

Mickey nods. “Yeah, make sure you’re right at the bottom and twist good. Don’t want to lose the head.”

Ian grimaces but dives right in, removing the first one behind Summer’s right ear with the same sickening pull. He doesn’t stop to stare at the grotesque creature, just drops it into the cup Mickey holds out. 

“Die, bitch,” Ian mumbles and Mickey laughs, pleased. 

They take turns petting and comforting Summer as the other takes out a few more. Soon the cup is full and Summer’s poor little ears are finally free, though look incredibly sore. 

“Okay, good girl,” Mickey soothes, setting down his tick remover and petting over Summer’s sides and neck. Summer visibly relaxes and licks affectionately at Mickey’s forearm. “Hopefully you’re as calm getting bathed,” he jinxes. 

Turns out Summer absolutely _loves_ water. As soon as Mickey turns on the shower hose she gets excited, tail swishing from side to side as she tries to nip at the spray. She yaps happily and hops closer to Mickey, jumping to put her wet paws on his chest as Ian tries to rub soap into her coat. 

By the end of the bath, Summer looks like a new dog, standing proudly on the grooming table as Mickey runs the dryer over her ears. Unfortunately, Ian and Mickey haven’t fared as well and are both wet and gross. They’re smiling though, and Ian feels intensely happy. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” A tall guy in scrubs and glasses announces as he walks into the room with two fresh towels and heart eyes, passing Mickey and heading straight for Ian. “I’m Andrew, the vet nurse,” he introduces as he hands over one of the towels. 

“Hi, Andrew the vet nurse. I’m Ian, the ex con.” Ian smiles as he starts to rub at his hair with the towel. Andrew laughs, all cute and flirty, and if Ian wasn’t in the middle of a wildly inappropriate and recently rekindled crush on his boss, he’d totally be into it. 

“Hey, Andrew the vet nurse. Think you could tear yourself away from Ian the ex con to give Mickey the wet guy a towel?”

There’s something setting in Mickey’s eyes, something hard. If Ian were a hopeful man, he’d think it looked like jealousy. 

Andrew blushes, nods, and throws over a towel. 

“Julie is waiting for you in exam room two,” he says before scurrying away. 

That light and airy happiness that had surrounded them slowly dissipates and Mickey looks grumpy as fuck again. Ian distracts himself by taking Summer’s face in both his hands and scratching the fur around her neck. She stretches her lips and thumps her hind leg against the table. 

“Seems you’re everyone’s favourite today,” Mickey says, aiming for a joking tone but the set of his jaw sharpens it too much. Ian looks up, surprised, but Mickey seems to shake it off. “Leash her up, I’ll introduce you both to the doc,” he says, kinder, then walks out. 

Ian turns back to Summer and she stares blankly back at him. “I know,” Ian mumbles. “What the fuck, right?”

Summer blinks in agreement. 

— — 

Doctor Julie is lovely. Really fucking lovely. She’s middle aged and pretty and looks like she’d give the best mom hugs. She fusses and coos over Summer throughout her examination, and Summer barely flinches when she takes a blood sample. 

“So, Summer appears to be a border collie and staffy cross, about three to four years old. She has a neutering scar so she’s obviously been someone’s pet, but there’s no sign of a chip. She seems to be in good health, but we’ll know more once her blood work comes back. We’ll keep her here tonight and give her some fluids to hydrate her. You can pick her up tomorrow morning if no one claims her.”

“Thanks, doc,” Mickey says and Julie smiles back at him fondly before turning to Ian and placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Good to meet you, Ian. I’m glad someone was finally able to stop rover renegade here going out on rescues alone.”

“Hey!” Mickey scowls, but there’s no threat there. Julie and Ian both snicker. 

They say goodbye to Summer with lots of pets and back rubs before Julie fits her leash and lifts her down from the table. 

“Bye, doc!” Ian grins and waves after her as she leaves.

Mickey rolls his eyes and smiles fondly. “Come on, Gallagher. Let’s go pick up breakfast for everyone.” 

The air around Mickey feels light and happy once more and as Ian follows him like an obedient puppy towards the van, he wonders what the hell put him in such a thundering mood before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love I’ve received so far, I really can’t put into words how much it means.
> 
> A massive thank you to anyone who has supported me on ko-fi too. As I said, I’m a carer for my disabled wife and chronically ill myself, so believe me when I say every penny helps. You have no idea. 
> 
> I hope you’re enjoying the story so far ♥️
> 
> See you on Sunday 🐾


	5. Bernese Mountain Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up and there’s unwelcome visitors.

Ian could get used to this. Having weekends free is quickly becoming his second favourite thing about working at XK9 (no prizes for guessing the first), mostly because he gets to hang out with Liam a whole lot, but also because he gets time to just _breathe_ after Saturday morning therapy. 

The clinic is only a handful of bus stops from his house, and now that summer is starting to pour its golden self over the city, being able to walk there and/or back leaves him with warmth in his bones. 

Therapy’s going well. True, it had been a rocky start, taking that impromptu trip to The Alibi for Ian to finally open up around Doctor Goldberg. After that, it was surprising how quickly Ian’s guard dropped around the fifty-something year old with salt and pepper hair and a crooked little smile. 

He always had his dress shirt sleeves uncuffed and rolled to the elbows, like the whole suit-and-tie thing made him uncomfortable. Today’s no different. In fact, the tie is off completely and Goldberg’s even wearing black sneakers. Sometimes Ian finds himself wondering about the kind of person Doctor Martin Goldberg is at home. Does he wear jeans and tshirts? Can he cook? Is he a good husband? Does he garden? Paint miniatures? Re-enact historical moments? Argue with strangers on Twitter?

“You seem distracted.” Goldberg’s voice breaks through Ian’s thoughts. 

“Oh, uhm. Well, I feel okay.” Ian shifts in his seat, sitting up straight like he’s just got caught passing notes in class. 

Goldberg smiles. “Distracted doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something wrong, Ian. You can be good distracted, too. How’s work?” 

“A good distraction,” Ian answers quickly. Goldberg barks a laugh. 

“This is your second week there now?” Ian nods. “And are you feeling settled?”

“I guess,” Ian shrugs, but he can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “I went on my first rescue last week.”

“Really? That sounds interesting. Tell me about that,” the doctor prompts, closing his little notebook and settling back in his chair. 

Ian does tell him, though he leaves out the Taco Truck and the fact he’s crushing on his old crush/now boss. 

“We waited all night thinking we were gonna have to chase her or trap her and then she just _showed up_ like it was nothing,” Ian says. 

“I guess she was finally ready for help,” Goldberg replies, giving Ian one of those meaningful looks. “She was ready to trust again.” 

Ian rolls his eyes and laughs. “You sayin’ I’m an abandoned puppy?”

Goldberg shrugs. “I’m saying maybe we’re all abandoned puppies.” 

“That want to save other abandoned puppies?” Ian snarks and Goldberg’s lips twitch into a smirk. 

“I keep telling you, Ian. I _don’t_ think you have a hero complex. You want to help, that’s much different from wanting to save. Like with the kid at work, Kenny? You helped get the boss to agree to the thing.” 

Ian nods, unable to stop Mickey’s bright blue eyes flashing through his mind. “Yeah, I helped. It’s his thing though.”

“See, it’s different,” Goldberg emphasises. “You just have to remember to accept help, as readily as you are to give it. It’s okay to trust people again.” 

Ian doesn’t say anything else. 

— — 

Liam’s waiting on the porch with a Gatorade and an ice cream sandwich when Ian arrives home. 

“You good?” he asks, as he always does after therapy. He’s the only one who doesn’t ask the usual _how was therapy?_ and it makes Ian love him more. 

Liam throws the Gatorade to Ian when he hops up the steps to join him on the porch. 

“I’m good, bud. What’s the plan for the afternoon?” Ian wraps his arm around his little brother’s shoulders and pulls him close to his side. 

“I’ve replaced the white paint in Mr Freeman’s garage with kindergarten glue. He’s finishing off painting his fence today so I’m gonna watch him learn a valuable lesson,” Liam states, very matter-of-fact. 

“Which is?” Ian asks, cracking open the bottle and taking a long drink. 

“Don’t pop Franny’s ball just because it lands in your garden.” 

Ian smirks. He loves his little brother, and as the warm feeling rushes through him, he grabs Liam in a fireman’s lift, hoisting him over his shoulder. Liam shrieks and giggles, sounding so childlike and free it’s almost a shock to hear. 

Ian doesn’t let him down for a while. 

— —

On Sunday morning, Ian wakes up to three messages from Mickey and another from Mandy. He rolls over in bed, tucks the pillow beneath his chin, and opens Mickey’s messages. 

The first is a photo of Summer, Ian’s first rescue dog. She looks clean and healthy and _happy_ and seeing her makes Ian’s heart swell. She’s leashed and being walked by one of the weekend volunteers, who looks just as happy about the walk as Summer does. Ian can’t help but grin like an idiot, especially when he gets to the second message beneath. 

It’s a photo of an adoption application already filled in for Summer by a young couple, and beneath that is Mickey’s message— 

**Mickey: Well done, newbie 🐾**

Ian hides his grin into his pillow, despite being completely alone. He doesn’t feel like he did much aside from kick his crush up a notch and debug a dog in need, but as he reads Mickey’s message over and over again, he does start to feel the happy pinch of pride in his chest. He’d be lying if he said his stomach wasn’t also swooping because _Mickey’s proud of him too_. 

When they’d left the vet that Thursday morning, no more had been said regarding the flirtatious vet nurse. Like always, Mickey just slipped so easily back into normalcy, leaving Ian a little flustered and very confused. 

He taps out a quick reply to Mickey of smiley faces and party emojis before opening Mandy’s message. It’s a link to a video of unlikely animal friendships. 

Ian laughs and rolls onto his side, tapping the video to play. 

— — 

It’s hot. It’s so fucking _hot_. It’s only 10AM and already Ian feels sticky and gross, like he needs to stand beneath a cold shower for a long ass time. They walk the dogs early to avoid the midday sun, and after Ian’s finished dishing out breakfast for the old timers, Kenny brings Summer over to hangout with them while they guzzle down bottles of cold water from the cooler. 

“Think you brought the sun with you, girl,” Kenny says happily as he reclines back in his chair, face tilted towards the sun as he folds his arms behind his head. 

Summer doesn’t respond from her position, flopped under Ian’s chair in the shade. There are industrial fans in the warehouse to keep the dogs cool, and the deep thrumming hum of the whirring blades is an almost pleasant white noise as Ian takes another gulp from his bottle. He drags a nearby bowl towards the chair with his foot and empties the rest of the water into it, chuckling to himself when Summer’s muzzle and tongue appear from beneath the chair to lap at the drink. 

When Ian looks back up, he finds Kenny smirking at him. “What?” He blinks. 

Kenny shrugs. “Nothing. I just haven’t seen you that happy around someone who wasn’t Mickey before.”

“Fuck off,” Ian laughs, sitting up straight and waving Kenny off, suddenly glad for the heat which has already flushed his pale skin. “We’re old friends, that’s all,” he lies terribly. 

“Uh-huh,” Kenny nods.

“We _are_!”

“Sure.”

Ian glares at Kenny like he does when his brothers try to tease him, but Kenny simply smiles sweetly in return and holds up his hands in surrender. 

“You’re a dick,” Ian finally says after a few beats of silence. There’s no bite to it, and Kenny just laughs and agrees. 

\-- -- 

“Hey, medicine man. Got a job for you,” Earl announces just before lunch. The rest of the guys are setting up an above ground pool in the rec yard for the dogs, and Ian’s secretly happy to be taken away and led into the air conditioned office. 

At the back of the office is a wooden cabinet with double doors and a small lock. Earl takes the small key from his pocket, holding it by the long chain it’s attached to. 

“Some of our dogs are on medications,” Earl explains as he unlocks the cabinet and pulls both doors back, revealing the stacks of medication boxes and pill bottles. He takes the clipboard that’s hanging on a rusted nail just next to the cabinet and hands it over to Ian. “This is a list of which dog is on what, how much to give for how long and what the treatment is for.” 

Ian looks over the three page list. There must be twenty to thirty dogs on it, and some of the elderly ones are on three different kinds of medication. The cabinet is in disarray and the clipboard is organised chaos, and Ian regards them both with eager curiosity. 

“So, you want some help organising, or dosing the dogs or…?”

“Yup,” Earl says, tossing the key in the air for Ian to catch before heading for the door. 

“Wait, which is it?” Ian calls. 

Earl stops at the door and shrugs. “All of it. It’s your job now — if you want it, that is?” He stares at Ian with a crooked brow and purpose. 

Ian blinks. He loves working with the dogs, and he loves learning. Medicine and health is intriguing, even without the rush of an emergency, and getting to do something that keeps that part of his brain active is nothing but a plus. It’s something he knows he could actually be great at. 

Ian nods shortly. “I’ll do it.”

“Yeah,” Earl drawls. “Mickey thought you’d like it.”

— — 

An hour later, after reorganising the medicine cabinet and taking photos of the bottles he wants to research later (not to mention feeling floaty as fuck at the thought of Mickey doing something to make him happy), Ian stumbles out of the blessedly cool warehouse and back into the baking sun in search of more chilled water. What he finds instead is an abandoned lunch area, only Ernez heading towards him with his arms filled with raggedy towels as the distant echo of splashing and barks follows him. 

“Rec yard,” Ernez huffs, hoisting the wet towels higher in his grasp as he heads for the laundry room.

In the rec yard the large above ground pool is now completely erect and more than halfway full, two hoses hanging over the sides. Brian’s in the pool with Kenny and Hank the coonhound, the pair of them laughing as Hank doggy paddles in sloppy circles around them. Ste is emptying a bucket of tennis balls across the rest of the yard for several dogs to scarper after, and Earl is filling up a line of large metal water bowls beneath the shade shelter Ian and Mickey built last week. 

Ian scans the yard for Mickey, disappointed when he doesn’t find him but still eager to join in the fun. This is the most dogs Ian’s ever seen out at the same time, he counts twelve but he’s sure there are more, some of the old timers and quite a few of the dog friendly ones. Summer spots him as she’s trampling clumsily back to Ste with two tennis balls clamped comically between her jaws, but she drops them the second her eyes land on Ian, barrelling towards him with speed and an excited yip. Ian crouches to steady himself just as she gets to him, but he’s still knocked over onto his ass as Summer leaps into his lap and licks over his chin and cheek with a warm sloppy tongue. 

“Hey, babygirl,” Ian greets with a giddy laugh, digging his fingers into Summer’s dark coat as he scratches her sides and wiggly little butt. 

“Yo, Red. Didn’t expect to see your pasty ass out here.”

Ian looks up to see Mickey just outside the yard, leaning forward on the fence in a tight tank top, blue shorts and dark sunglasses. His arms are only slightly less paler than Ian’s, but _fuck_ , Ian never realised the _biceps_ Mickey has. God, he looks good. He looks like a dripping ice cream cone with blueberry syrup and sprinkles, and Ian’s never felt hungrier in his life. 

“Couldn’t let you guys have all the fun now, could I?” He manages to answer. 

Summer leaps off his lap and over to the fence to jump at Mickey, who laughs and makes her sit for a treat before reaching in and ruffling her ears. 

As Mickey enters the yard, his dogs scamper in behind him, Sweetie first followed closely by Raph and Don, and finally Cooper, who traipses in with a touch more caution. It’s then Ian notices the little orange booties on all four of Cooper’s paws. 

“Your dog’s wearing booties, man,” Ian says as he gets to his feet, brushing his knees down. 

“Told you he only walks on soft surfaces,” Mickey explains, and Ian finds himself staring at the lenses of his sunglasses searching for those blue eyes. He misses them. “Those booties are cushioned _and_ breathable, and also cost more than any shoes I’ve ever bought.”

Ian grins whilst inwardly cursing the universe for making grown up Mickey Milkovich not only insanely hot but also secretly incredibly sweet. 

“Does he swim?” 

“Yeah, he’s fine in water. He loves it, actually. Why don’t you take him for a dip?”

“Sure. You gonna join us?” Ian asks hopefully. 

Mickey quickly scratches the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Nah, not really a fan of water.” Ian tries not to let the disappointment show as he nods in understanding. “Have fun though. Coop likes it when you throw him in.”

Ian laughs. “Sure, no problem.”

Mickey smiles and pets Copper’s head before heading to where Earl is now crouched in the shelter, petting Raph and Don. 

Stripping down to his boxer shorts, Ian flings his clothes onto the bench and approaches the pool, just as Kenny’s climbing out. 

“Hey, man,” Ian greets. Kenny smiles back, and when he glances over Ian’s shoulder his smile quickly slips into a smirk. He leans in a little closer, like he’s got a secret. 

“Y’know, for someone who’s afraid of the water, Mickey can’t seem to keep his eyes away.” Ian shoots him an odd look and he’s just about to turn when Kenny scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Be subtle,” he murmurs before shaking his shaggy brown hair like a wet dog and stalking off to the pile of fresh towels Ernez has just arrived with. 

Ian scoops up the black lab in his arms and hurls him into the water. There’s a loud splash that covers Brian and Hank, and Hank barks happily as Cooper surfaces. 

Ian pulls himself into the pool on the little shitty ladders, instantly feeling the cool water lap at his warm skin. He sighs, relieved, and crouches until the waist deep water is covering his shoulders. Cooper splashes over to him and Ian wraps his arms around the dog and lifts him from the water to throw him in again. 

When he turns, he can see Mickey beneath the shelter, sunglasses now hanging from the neck of his tank. He’s staring at them both, looking kind of confused and a bit tense. If Ian didn’t know any better, he’d think he was being checked out. 

Fuck. Was...was Mickey checking him out? 

Ian’s made enough fucked up life choices to know he’s got a good body and a nice face, one that draws attention from most eyes that are into dick. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything though, does it? 

As he lifts Cooper higher, Ian purposely lets his muscles flex just a touch more than strictly necessary, and Mickey’s eyes fixate on the bulging pale skin of Ian’s biceps and forearms. He hurls Cooper into the water, laughing as the splash sprays him, wetting his hair. He runs a hand through it before shaking the excess droplets away. 

“Man, we could make a fucking calendar out of you and have this place funded for the next decade,” Brian says, throwing a sopping wet tennis ball that Ian catches easily. 

Ian snorts and shrugs. “Take it up with the boss.” 

— — 

After playing with Cooper and Summer for a while, Ian offers to do the next towel run as Earl and Ernez swap out some of the dogs. 

On the way back, he’s pleasantly surprised to find Mickey coming out of the food storage room with a bag of ice pops. Ian wishes he could shrink down and climb into the bag himself. Well, actually, if he’s wishing for things...

“You want one?” Mickey asks, holding the bag of brightly coloured sticks aloft. 

“Hell yeah,” Ian nods, fumbling with the stacks of towels. “Blue please. Can you open it for me?” 

“Sure.” Mickey dips a hand into the bag and pulls out a bright blue pole, ripping the top open with his teeth before offering it out to Ian. 

With both hands full, Ian opens his mouth to receive the cold treat. Mickey stares at him for a moment and Ian simply stares back, eyebrow arched in question, or challenge — or both. 

Mickey swallows thickly and takes a tentative step forward before slipping the pole between Ian’s parted lips. Ian wraps his mouth around it and sucks lightly, humming in contentment as the sweet ice sticks to his warm tongue. 

Ian doesn’t let his eyes leave Mickey’s, and Mickey’s still got the pole clenched between his thumb and middle finger, staring at Ian like he’s just sprouted wings. It feels like they’ve frozen too, and Ian wonders if Mickey can see the thoughts flashing behind his own eyes. He wonders what Mickey tastes like, what he _would_ taste like after his own ice pop. He wonders what flavour he’ll go for, and how it would mix with the sickly sweet blueberry syrup melting on his tongue. 

Something is crackling between them, and Ian doesn’t know if it’s desire or nervous tension but it feels like _something_. 

Eventually, Ian pulls back slowly, tugging the cold treat from Mickey’s fingers, leaving Mickey’s hand to drop uselessly back to his side. He licks his lips, and Ian knows he’s got to get out of there before he has a pole situation of his own. 

“—fankoo,” he singsongs, muffled, breaking the tension between them like nothing has happened, before striding back towards the rec yard, desperate to keep his legs moving so he doesn’t end up falling to the ground. 

— — 

“Sounds like he’s into you,” Lip says later that night, passing Ian a wet dish to dry as they finish cleaning up from dinner. 

“Wait, really?” Ian’s caught somewhere between hopefulness and disbelief as he dries off the same plate with a dish towel over and over again. 

“Gettin’ jealous when someone flirts with you is kind of a dead giveaway, man. I’m surprised you missed it.”

Ian presses his lips together and sighs. He wants to believe it, of course he does, but he’s been bitterly wrong before and learning to trust his own mind again is still a continuous battle. 

“I don’t know, I could be reading too much into it. Maybe Kenny’s just messing with me.”

Lip passes over the last handful of washed cutlery before pulling the plug, letting the water gurgle away. “I don’t think so. I think Mickey’s as ready to hop aboard the train to Pound Town as you are.”

Ian glares at his brother who simply smirks back like the smart ass he is. 

“It’s not like that,” Ian sighs, curling his fingers around the dish towel as the discomforting thought of Mickey just wanting to fuck rolls through him. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was only interested in Ian for the night. 

“You got feelings for the guy?” Lip asks, arms folded but face soft. Ian can’t look at him, can’t answer the question. He does. He _knows_ he does, and he thinks a part of him always has. 

Mickey had always been a square peg in a round hole when they were younger. Sure, he was as much of a delinquent as any southsider, but he didn’t seem to have that brutality that the rest of the Milkovich men had. 

And now, despite being the product of a fucked up home and a monster of a father, Mickey is sweet and kind and rescues dogs and buys them fucking booties! His smile makes Ian melt, makes him feel nervous and excited but also completely content. He’s easy to talk to, he’s _fun_ to talk to, and, despite only being back in his life for a short while, he makes Ian feel safe. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Ian says quietly, and his big brother steps closer to clasp a damp hand over his neck. 

“Ask him out, and if he has even half a brain cell he’ll say yes.”

Ian worries his lip between his teeth. “And if he says no?” 

Lip brings the other hand to the other side of Ian’s neck. “Well then I’ll just have to piss in his gas tank.”

Ian laughs. “Thanks, bro.”

— — 

There’s a tense and uncomfortable energy as soon as Ian steps through the gates of XK9 the following morning. The dogs are getting rowdy, more so than usual, and Ian finds himself picking up the pace as he speed walks towards the warehouse. 

Just inside the door, Earl is leaning back against the wall, arms folded and face set like stone. He’s glaring ahead, and just as Ian’s about to speak he sees a middle aged man and a woman in suits, carrying clipboards with the letters CTS stamped on the back. They’re looking at the ceiling, pointing with their pens and muttering amongst themselves. 

“What’s going on?” Ian stage whispers to Earl, neither of them taking their eyes off the pair. 

“Suited goons from CTS showed up about ten minutes ago with a signed letter from the city council giving them permission to conduct their research,” Earl grumbles. 

“Research? For what?” 

“They want the land for their transformation bullshit. They’re gearing up for a proposal to the board.”

“The fuck?” Ian breathes, watching as the woman in the shit-brown pant suit looks over the dog kennel with a look of disgust. Ian bristles at that, it’s not even his row of dogs but he takes it personally. He _knows_ every single kennel in this place is clean, even before the morning rounds. “Where’s Mickey?”

“On his way down,” Earl replies, and not a moment later there’s a flash of black hair and blue denim as Mickey storms passed them towards the invaders, Sweetie scurrying along at his heel like a furry torpedo. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Mickey demands, voice sharp and mean, like when he was young. Sweetie growls the same question. 

The woman looks up with a start, but quickly regains composure. “Mr. Milkovich, I’m Linda Pearce and this is Craig Cox. We’re project managers reporting to the managing directors of the Chicago Transformation Society.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are or who you work for. Get the fuck off my property before—”

“See, that’s the thing, Mr. Milkovich,” she interrupts, ripping a piece of paper from her clipboard. “This isn’t _your_ property, it belongs to the city, and the city has given us their permission to be here and conduct our research.”

She hands over the letter, but Mickey doesn’t read it. Instead he quickly rolls it into a tight paper stick before holding it out at his side. Immediately Sweetie leaps for it, snatching it in her jaws. She tugs on it briefly when she lands, and when Mickey lets go she shakes her head like she’s killing a rodent, sending pieces of paper flying. The guy squeaks and jumps back, clutching his clipboard to his chest. 

Ian does his best to contain the snort of amusement that rises in his throat. It’s impressive (and hot) that Mickey Milkovich is still just as intimidating being backed up by a pissed off terrier as when he was backed up by large southside thugs. 

Unimpressed, Linda sighs and takes another copy of the letter from her clipboard and hands it over to Mickey. “As I was saying. The council has given us permission to be here to see if the area would make a suitable candidate for our community projects transformation scheme.”

Mickey scrunches up the second letter and tosses it behind his shoulder. 

“This is a fucking rescue centre that helps people in the community.”

“Criminals, Mr. Milkovich. You employ criminals in the community.”

Mickey scoffs. “Sorry, I must have missed the carpool spaceship that drops them off every morning. I was under the impression that they were human beings. And if you’ve got such a problem with criminals and _ex_ criminals then you’re in the wrong neighbourhood, bitch. Now why don’t you totter back to your bosses, y’know — the criminals with a fat stack and a degree? And tell them that this place is not for sale.”

Linda brushes down her jacket and huffs. “I can see this is perhaps not the right time, but rest assured Mr. Milkovich, we’ll be in touch. Most likely with even more support and reinforcement from the council.” She glares down at Sweetie, who has just started to growl again at the tense tone of the woman’s threat, and back up to Mickey. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.”

With that, she nods to her colleague and rounds Mickey and his tiny bodyguard with caution. 

“Yeah, well, if I were you I’d try not to look like walking diarrhea,” Mickey snaps.

Linda pauses like she’s thinking about responding, but instead straightens her shoulders and leaves without another word or glance at any of them. 

Ian watches Mickey’s profile as he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Ian wants to go over to him, put a hand on his shoulder and tell him it’s okay, but he’s seen enough nervous dogs to know that what Mickey probably needs is space and possibly something to smash. 

From Mickey’s feet, Sweetie whines. Mickey glances down at her briefly, sighs deeply, and turns to leave. 

When he passes, Ian tries to find his eyes and hold his gaze, but Mickey doesn’t look at him or Earl. He just leaves, Sweetie following close behind, and Ian’s heart feels heavy and hopeless. 

— — 

“And then he just left?” Brian asks as they roll the laundry cart towards the utility room. Ian’s had to retell the story to every parolee throughout the day, thankfully Brian’s the last to corner him about it. 

It’s not unusual for Mickey to be gone for the day and it’s also not unusual for Earl to look stressed out and snap orders at the guys like he’s an aggressive coach and they’re competing in the dog rescue Olympics, pressed for time and about to be beaten to gold by the Russians. 

It’s the dogs that gave it away. They’ve soaked up the tension and distress of the morning’s confrontation like emotional sponges, like they could _smell_ how pissed off Mickey was, and probably still is (wherever the hell he is). The rest of the guys sensed something was up straight away, and Ian’s been answering questions and feeling uneasy about the whole thing all day. 

He wants to message Mickey, wants to see where he is and if there’s anything he can do to help. He wants to comfort Mickey, take deep breaths with him and then kiss him slow until he feels safe again. 

“Yeah, haven’t heard from him all day,” Ian replies. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“With a couple bodies to bury, no doubt,” Brian laughs and Ian instantly bristles at the joke. 

“He’s not like that,” Ian says, and Brian gives him _a look_. “...anymore.”

Brian snorts just as Ian’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket. Quickly he fishes it out, desperate for any word from Mickey. 

It’s not Mickey. But it’s a Milkovich. 

**Mandy: Hey, Mickey just left me a really weird voicemail. He didn’t sound good. I know something’s going on so don’t BS me! Just find him before he does something stupid.**

“Fuck,” Ian spits, wrapping his fingers around his phone and gripping tight, like the pain will somehow push his thoughts out fast. 

“S’up?” Brian questions. 

Ian shakes his head. “Can you finish loading this before you head out? I gotta find Mickey.”

“Of course, man. Go get him.”

Ian doesn’t think about the implications behind the words, he just nods and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you on Thursday 😊


	6. Bichon Frise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey needs help.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take Ian long to find Mickey. Hell, he doesn’t even get three feet from the warehouse before he hears Sweetie whining and yipping. 

The office door is slightly ajar when Ian gets to the top of the fire escape, and when he gingerly pushes it further open, is greeted with a pissed off bark from Cujo jr. who’s now sitting at his feet. 

_Took you long enough, moron!_ Sweetie’s glare seems to say. 

“Hey, it’s okay, girl. Just wanna check on Mickey.”

Ian pulls a treat from his pocket as he speaks softly, holding it out like an offering to Cerberus at the gates of hell. Sweetie eyes the treat for a moment and then scuffles back so that Ian can open the door fully. 

“Good girl,” he praises the tiny demon, tossing the treat and stepping inside. 

The office is dark, the blinds pulled half down so that only a little of the evening sunlight spills across the mismatched rugs in tilted lines of gold. Cooper appears next from the shadows, tail hammering with a dull _thud thud thud_ as he sits patiently waiting, watching Ian’s hand. Ian, who can’t help but smile, throws him a treat. 

“Hey, boy. Where’s Mickey?” 

Cooper gobbles the treat and trots off to the couch. Thinking that the lab has lost interest, Ian sighs and flicks on the light. Now he can see Cooper standing by the side of the couch, staring intently at the foot or so of space between the back of it and the wall. 

“Whatcha’ got there, Coop?” Ian asks as he slowly makes his way over, clambering onto the couch so he can peer over the back.

There, huddled into a corner, is a tired looking Mickey, hair disheveled like he’s been napping and eyes rimmed with red. He’s not looking anywhere near Ian, just staring straight ahead at the dog.

“Thanks, Cooper,” Ian says quietly, tossing the lab another treat. 

“Snitch,” Mickey grumbles before sniffing and taking a pull from the whiskey bottle in his hand. He looks so vulnerable and innocent, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears as he rubs at them with tattooed fingers. 

Ian feels a sharp tug in his chest as the urge to scoop up Mickey floods him. 

“Hey, Mick,” he whispers. 

Mickey salutes him with the neck of the bottle. “Gallagher.” 

There’s still plenty of alcohol left in the bottle and Mickey isn’t slurring or swaying or losing focus, so he mustn’t be too drunk, but that means the drawn look on his face must be something else. Something like sadness or maybe despair. Whatever it is, it makes Ian ache. 

“Sooo,” he drawls, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch as he rests his chin in his hand. “How was your day?”

Mickey snorts in response, letting a genuine smile slip through for a moment, like a beam of light through a partly covered window. Then it quickly fades back into that blank melancholy Ian remembers seeing on Mandy’s face so many times before when they were young. 

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” he says with a sigh, twirling the whiskey bottle on the small strip of floor visible between his legs. Ian listens to the rattle of glass across uneven wood, and stares at the bottle to get a moment's pause from Mickey’s sad eyes. 

“Sure,” Ian bobs his head in a lazy nod. “I can’t think of a great day I had where I didn’t end up hiding behind a couch.”

“Not hiding,” Mickey grumbles, defensive. 

Ian gives in and lets his eyes flicker to Mickey’s face. He’s scowling in a way he probably means to come across as aggressive, but Ian’s more forlorn than intimidated. 

Mickey leans back heavily against the wall, squeezes his eyes closed and takes a weighted breath. As he exhales, the breath stutters, pulsating his chest in quick waves. The next few breaths are all rushed exhales. 

Ian freezes. He knows that breathing pattern. 

“Hey, look at me,” he instructs softly, but Mickey’s eyes stay clamped shut and his face flushes, tears collecting at the corners of his eyelids. He gasps out his next breath violently, a sob erupting just after as he reaches for his hair and shakes his head, pulling the strands right between his fingers. 

“Fuck, fuck— fuck!” Mickey panics. 

Ian throws himself over the back of the couch, pushing the couch away with a heavy shove so he can scramble between Mickey’s legs. From somewhere in the office Sweetie growls and another dog skitters around in surprise, but all Ian can see is Mickey’s desperate face. 

“Mick. It’s okay, open your eyes,” Ian pleads, knocking Mickey’s hands out of his hair so he can get his own hands on either side of Mickey’s head. 

It’s another shaky breath or two before Mickey’s eyes do finally flicker open, and once they lock onto Ian’s gaze, Ian keeps them locked. 

“Gallagher,” Mickey gasps, like he’s reaching out mid fall, and Ian tries to soften the worry on his own face. 

“It’s a panic attack, okay? You’re fine, just look at me and breathe slow.” Ian starts to take his own deep breaths, hoping for Mickey to copy. Mickey makes a few clumsy attempts, but ends up hiccuping and closing his eyes again. 

“Fuck,” he groans. 

“C’mere.” Ian takes Mickey’s hand and presses it to his stomach. Mickey’s eyes widen in surprise. “Feel my abdomen. See, it expands when I breathe in.” he takes a deep breath in, his hands clasped over one of Mickey’s as they move together, holding the breath as he continues. “And breathe out, it goes in,” he breathes out slowly, their hands pushing together as Ian’s abdomen collapses. 

Ian pulls Mickey’s hand away from his stomach and presses it against Mickey’s abdomen. 

“Now you,” he instructs softly. “Push out as you breathe in.”

Mickey takes a deep breath, eyes still clamped onto Ian’s gaze as his abdomen pushes out. He holds the breath steadily. 

“Good. Okay now breathe out, and push in gently.” 

Mickey does so, warm whiskey scented breath blowing against Ian’s face. 

“Okay, again. You still with me?” Mickey nods and they repeat the breath together a few more times until Ian slowly pulls his own hands away. 

“Okay,” Mickey whispers, he looks up at Ian with trust. 

“True or false?” Ian starts. “Your name is Mickey.”

Mickey arches his brows as he takes another steady breath. “What?”

“Just focus on the question and nothing else, but keep your hand on your stomach. True or false? Your name is Mickey.”

“True,” Mickey breathes, still looking somewhat confused, but at least it’s some distraction. 

Ian leans back out of Mickey’s personal space. “True or false? The sky is green.”

Mickey still looks perplexed. “False.”

“True or False? Earl and Ernez go line dancing on the weekends.”

Mickey’s eyebrows twitch, one side of his mouth pulling into a small smirk. Mickey probably hasn’t noticed, but he’s been steadily breathing slower and slower over the last minute or so. His chest is calmly rising and falling, eyes less red, and hands no longer shaking. 

“The fuck? False, I think.” 

“True or false? Crunchy peanut butter is superior to smooth peanut butter.”

“True.”

“Oh thank god, that would have been a real problem otherwise,” Ian sighs dramatically and Mickey laughs, a little sniffle following that makes Ian want to reach out and pull him close. 

The CTS visit must have really done a number on him, and Ian can empathise with the anxiety something like that must bring. He’s been in those pits many times before, and it’s breaking his heart to see Mickey there. 

Fuck, he’s really into this guy. 

Ian can see Mickey’s shoulders relaxing, and he’s staring at Ian like nothing else matters. Ian doesn’t know if it’s a reaction to finally feeling safe again or because it’s _Ian_ who’s the one making him feel safe. But there’s definitely something, something more than gratitude behind Mickey’s eyes. There’s no room behind this couch to hide it. 

“True or false? You were checking me out the other day in the pool.” His mouth is dry but he manages to get the words out in one quick breath. 

Mickey looks torn between shock and intrigue. 

“What happens if I don’t answer?” 

“Then the panic attack comes back and you die,” Ian deadpans.

“Fuck off,” Mickey snaps with a slight smirk.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

There’s a pregnant pause and Ian swears Mickey licks his lips whilst looking at Ian’s mouth. It reminds him of the damn popsicle and he’s suddenly aching to run his tongue across the roof of his mouth to see if he can taste blueberry. 

“True.” Mickey’s answer startles Ian when it comes, his mouth falling agape as he tries to process the single syllable. 

“Fuck.” Ian has no idea if he’s said the word out loud or just mouthed it dumbly. _Fuck_. Though he’s been wanting, even hoping for at least some reciprocated attraction, the reality of it is still a little terrifying. 

Mickey rolls his eyes at Ian’s dumbstruck face. “True or false?”

“—That’s not how this game works,” Ian tries to quickly interrupt, but Mickey ignores him. 

“True or false? You were checking out my ass the whole time we were building that shelter.” Mickey’s smirking knowingly and Ian almost chokes on his own tongue. Fucking karma. 

“Uhm.” 

“That’s not an answer, and you have to answer or you’ll die,” Mickey shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.”

Fuck. The fuckers got him. And he looks kind of happy about it. 

Ian takes a deep breath. “True.” 

The word is out there and he can’t take it back, doesn’t _want_ to take it back. 

Neither of them are sure who moves first, but they meet in the middle with the shared goal of pressing their mouths together in a heated kiss. 

Ian’s still kneeling between Mickey’s legs, falling further forward as the kiss deepens. He splays a hand across Mickey’s lower back as the other cups the back of his head. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey with a hint of something sweeter, and when Mickey’s tongue creeps between Ian’s lips, Ian opens to him immediately. 

Mickey’s fingers are clinging to Ian’s hoodie, and when Mickey groans and shifts his hips, Ian pulls back with a wet sound. 

“Fuck, sorry,” he pants, his moral compass quivering a little when he tastes the alcohol in Mickey’s mouth, but Mickey doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. “You're drunk. I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Mickey protests, fumbling for the bottle and holding it up as evidence. True that more than half of the bottle is still there, but Ian’s never been the sober one in this situation before. “Chill out, Gallagher.”

Ian nods. He reaches out and strokes a thumb over Mickey’s cheekbone, hoping he won’t take this as a rejection when he doesn’t lean down for another kiss. 

“How about we get you home?” he says softly instead. 

Mickey snorts. “Oh so _now_ you wanna take me home?” 

Ian laughs and shoves at Mickey’s shoulder before clambering to his feet and offering out a hand to Mickey. “C’mon, let me make sure you guys get home safe.” 

Mickey grumbles but still allows Ian to pull him back onto his feet. “How much trouble could I get in goin’ up one flight of stairs?”

“Huh?” Ian drops Mickey’s hand when he’s steady, stepping back to give Mickey a befuddled stare. 

“I live upstairs, Red. Who d’ya think watches this place every night? Sweetie?” Mickey says, a slight sway in his knees as he walks forward but mostly he can keep himself upright. 

“I mean, that wouldn’t exactly be a bad choice.”

Mickey grins sheepishly, like now he’s suddenly gonna get all coy after already trying to lick the back of Ian’s neck from the front. 

“You kissed me,” Mickey states quietly, somewhat awed. 

“Pretty sure you kissed me,” Ian replies, barely above a whisper as Mickey steps back into his space. He smirks and shakes his head slow. 

“Nuh-uh, Gallagher.” 

Mickey’s looking at Ian’s mouth again and Ian can’t take his eyes off of Mickey’s wet lips. God, he wants to kiss him so bad. 

With another step forward Mickey kicks over the bottle of whiskey, causing him to trip and crash against Ian with an annoyed curse, bursting whatever moment was reblooming between them. 

Ian steadies Mickey on his feet again. “Okay, I think we need to get you home before you knock over something expensive.” 

Mickey heaves out a sigh. “Nope. Gotta walk and feed the pack first. Gotta lock this place down, too.”

It’s then that Ian can feel the four sets of eyes on them, and when he turns to the center of the room finds himself being meticulously studied. Sweetie is glaring judgingly from beneath a side table, Raph and Don lounge lazily over each other at the foot of the couch, and Cooper is sitting watching them intently from the rug. 

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine. You stay here and I’ll walk the dogs and lock up.”

Mickey looks like he might argue for a moment, but seems to change his mind as he opens his mouth. He roots for his keys and tosses them to Ian. “Don’t forget Cooper’s booties.”

— — 

When Ian gets back from walking the dogs and locking down the rescue, he’s still teetering on the edge of a freak out. The only thing keeping him from tripping over the ledge is the pull of Mickey’s smile in his memory. The softness of his lips. The warmth of his mouth. 

And Mickey likes him. 

_True_. 

There’s a door behind Mickey’s desk that’s open, revealing a stone staircase that disappears into darkness. Ian wonders how he missed it, even though he’s only been in the office a handful of times. 

The dogs scamper for the stairs, moving like a single entity as they grunt and yip and then disappear. 

Ian follows them, the intrigue working harder than the trepidation as he climbs the stairs slowly. It’s only a single flight that leads up to a concrete corridor and a large red metal sliding door that the dogs are currently scratching at. 

The door suddenly slides open, making Ian jump as the dogs scramble inside. Mickey mumbles something and walks away from the door, and Ian can see he’s changed into sweatpants and a tank top and is padding away across the room with bare feet. 

Okay. So, Mickey’s got enough sober brain power to get himself into his apartment and change his clothes, which probably means Ian can stop beating himself up for being a creep. 

When he enters the apartment, Ian’s mouth drops open. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, taking in the open plan loft that looks like it’s been pulled straight off of Pinterest. 

Considering the state of Mickey’s office, Ian had expected his place to be similar, cluttered and cramped and filled with chewed dog toys. But not this. 

The apartment has light wooden floors and a network of mismatched rugs, carpet scraps and throws that sprawl to the living area and dining area. The couch in the living room looks old but comfortable, and on the large TV screen opposite the different feed from CCTV around the rescue flickers to each camera every few seconds. 

There are four large dog crates against the wall next to the door, each with the occupant’s name written on cardboard in sharpie, wedged above the entrance. Straight across are two false walls, forming a cube room with white frosted panels. In the same sharpie on the same cardboard, Mickey’s name is displayed above the small door. 

Mickey’s leaning against the benched dining table, watching Ian as he takes in the place with awe and wonder. He looks soft but still sad, and Ian wants to pull him into a protective hug. 

“This place is gorgeous, Mick. Really, I mean. Wow.” Ian glances back up at the high beamed ceilings and then back down to Mickey’s face. 

“Thanks,” he replies quietly, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye socket and groaning.

“You okay?” Ian frowns. 

“Yeah. Fuckin’ stress headache I think, or I skipped drunk and went straight to hungover. Fuck, maybe both.” 

“Go get in bed,” Ian says softly, and when Mickey’s about to protest he interrupts— “I’ll feed the dogs and stay with them a little while. You look exhausted.”

Mickey pulls his hand away from his face with a quiet sniffle. He nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Ian’s a little surprised. Frankly he’d expected a bit more resistance, but Mickey looks weathered and done with the day. 

“Good. I’ll bring you some water and painkillers when I’ve fed this pack of hooligans.” 

The dogs are circling the dining table, stopping every few moments to throw a longing look at the kitchen and then to Mickey. 

Mickey watches them for a few moments with a fragile smile before turning back to Ian. 

“The food’s under the kitchen sink and there’s painkillers above the microwave.”

“Got it.” Ian nods and heads for the kitchen. 

“Hey, Ian…” Mickey starts, and when Ian pauses to look back at him he finds Mickey looking grateful but unsure. He licks his lips and quietly finishes with, “Thank you.”

Not able to think of anything else, Ian presses his lips into a tight smile and nods. 

When all four dog bowls (each named) are filled with the correct amount of kibble, Ian sets them down on the kitchen floor. He slides the end bowl over so it’s nudging against the rug walkway for Cooper. All four heads disappear into their respective bowls and the only thanks Ian receives are slobbering, gobbling noises. 

“You’re welcome!” Ian enthuses like he’s just prepared the meal himself. Still, he’s ignored. 

With an eye roll, Ian turns to open the cupboard above the microwave in Mickey’s small kitchen, takes a clean glass from just by the sink and fills it with cold water. 

When he turns back around, the bowls are empty and the dogs are lazing in the living area like they’ve been relaxing undisturbed for hours. They pay no attention as Ian crosses to Mickey’s bedroom door, and it’s only Sweetie that raises a questioning brow when he pushes the door ajar. 

“Mickey?” Ian whispers into the dark room, slipping through the door carefully to stop the outside lights from rushing in behind him. 

Mickey’s bed is metal framed and pushed against a wall of exposed brick. There’s a lump in the middle of the dark sheets, and when Ian steps closer, the lump shifts and turns. 

“S’up?” Mickey croaks, comforter pulled to his chin, hair even more disheveled than before. He looks so fucking precious.

Ian holds up the water and pills awkwardly, wondering how he got from manic religious cult leader to standing in the middle of his stressed/tipsy/unguarded crush’s bedroom like a big sad puppy who just wants to help the nice man that makes him feel good.

Mickey shuffles and sits up slowly, and Ian takes the cue to step closer and hand over the glass and painkillers. Mickey takes them quickly with a single big gulp before setting the glass down on his nightstand. When he looks back to Ian with a questioning glance, Ian starts to back up towards the door. 

“Uh—yeah. I’m just gonna—”

“Don’t,” Mickey says and it’s just a small quiet sound but Ian stops quickly like the word was bellowed from ten foot speakers. 

Ian takes a few breaths as he waits for any follow up, but Mickey’s just staring at him like he’s trying to make a decision. 

“Everything okay?” Ian finally breaks the silence to ask, even though it’s the dumbest question to ask a guy you found hiding behind a couch an hour ago. As soon as the question’s out and even in the darkened room, Ian can see Mickey’s face crumble. “Hey, hey, hey,” Ian coos softly as he rushes forward, sitting to drape his torso against Mickey’s side as he lets out a shuddery breath. Mickey clutches at Ian’s elbow and instinctively Ian wraps his arms protectively around him. 

“It’s fucked,” Mickey sobs into Ian’s forearm. “I was getting this place to work and they’re trying — they’re gonna do everything to fucking,” he gulps, pulling his face from Ian’s sleeve to look at him with such sadness and heartbreak that Ian starts to feel his own eyes water. “I worked so fucking hard,” Mickey whispers. 

Ian pulls Mickey’s head to his chest and hugs him tight, rocking back and forth slightly and murmuring quiet _“I know, it’s okay,”_ ’s like he used to do when Liam had nightmares. Mickey feels so breakable in his arms. He knows that Mickey has put his soul into this place, he’s built something truly amazing and proved every other fucker in the southside dead wrong when they said Milkoviches were all the same. 

Mickey sobs quietly into Ian’s chest for a while, clinging to Ian’s hoodie as his shaky breaths start to smooth into a steady rolling rhythm. Ian’s just about to check if he’s fallen asleep when Mickey shifts to rest his head on Ian’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I was a dick to you when we were kids,” he says honestly, and it takes Ian back a little. He smiles and huffs. 

“Nonsense. You were the nicest thug I’d ever met—” Mickey snorts. “—apart from all the stealing from the Kash and Grab when I was on shift.” Ian’s stomach drops as the words leave his mouth, remembering the crushing fact that Mickey knew about him and Kash. Ian knows it’s not his fault, he knows he was the kid and Kash was the creepy adult, but there’s still always that little ember of shame that his anxiety likes to fan whenever the memory pops up. 

“I only stole things so you’d notice me,” Mickey admits, breaking the silence. Ian tenses as his heart freezes mid beat, choking the next breath out of him. 

“Really?”

Mickey nods with a shy smile, pulling back slightly so their eyes can find each other again. Another heated moment passes between them, and Ian can’t stop himself as he leans forward and presses his lips to Mickey’s in a virtuous kiss that never deepens, but simply breaks off into sweet little pecks as Ian’s thumb presses gently into Mickey’s jaw. 

“You should get some sleep,” Ian says, even though he follows the suggestion with another peck to Mickey’s wet lips. “I’ll hang out with the dogs for a while and then come check on you, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey agrees, yawning on cue as Ian regretfully pulls himself away. Mickey burrows back beneath the bedding and Ian reaches out to run a careful hand through Mickey’s hair. Mickey hums, already halfway to sleep. 

\--

Though it’s a pretty comfy couch, Ian still wakes with a crick in his neck and stiff knees. He groans and stretches, wincing at the uncomfortable pops and other noises of protest from his body as he pulls himself upright and blinks around the apartment. 

He hadn’t really meant to stay the whole night, but then again, he made no effort to leave. 

After creeping out of Mickey’s room, Ian had poked around the kitchen a little more, clearing up after the dogs and searching for any food he wouldn’t feel too guilty eating without permission. He settled on a pot of microwave ramen and ate it in front of the TV, watching the security footage of the rescue like some poorly edited nature show. 

The dogs had kept him company for a while, all but Sweetie choosing to press as close to him on the couch as possible. Their little sleepy snorts and farts and dream twitches made Ian laugh. Then, gradually, each dog slunk off to their crate and settled in for the night. 

Ian kicked off his shoes and threw one more glance to Mickey’s closed bedroom door before settling in, taking pointless BuzzFeed quizzes until he’d fallen asleep. 

Now he’s blinking into the blinding daylight that gushes through the large windows as the last twenty four hours comes trickling back to him. 

Mickey. CTS. Mickey. Mandy. Sweetie. Mickey. Mickey. Breathe, Mickey. Mickey Mickey Mick—

— _holy shit, I kissed Mickey!_

Ian stands quickly and spins towards the direction of Mickey’s room. 

The door’s open and the bed is made, and Ian can’t help but feel disappointed. The dog crates are empty and the apartment is generally still and peaceful, save for the distant barking of the hungry rescue dogs outside. 

Ian checks his watch and curses, shoving on his shoes and combing down his hair with his fingers as he rushes out of the apartment before he’s late for work. 

— — 

“Hey, Ian!” Kenny greets cheerily as he pushes a wheelbarrow of kibble out of the storeroom. “Didn’t see you come in. Rough night?” Kenny gives Ian a quick look over, taking in his unusually unkempt appearance. 

“Something like that,” Ian says, unsure, little flashes of paranoia tickling at his skin like he’s wearing a T-shirt that says: _I’ve been crushing on my boss since I was fifteen and last night we kissed!_

“You doin’ okay there, man?” Kenny looks more concerned than skeptical, and Ian does his best to muster a somewhat calm smile. 

“Yeah, yup. Fine. I’m good. Just gonna get started on the breakfast round,” he says before quickly disappearing into the store room. 

— — 

It ends up being the busiest day Ian’s ever had at the rescue. After morning rounds there are a handful of kennel changes. There are three new dogs and two dogs were adopted last week, so Earl organises a little shuffle around, moving some dogs onto Ian’s _old timers_ row to replace the adopted ones. 

Esmerelda and Tavern have both found new homes, and Ian had been surprised at the tiny tug of sadness in his chest when he’d first seen their empty kennels. Though it wasn’t anywhere near as sad as he’d felt when he found out Summer’s adoption had fallen through after the applicants pulled out before the first interview. 

“Where’s Mickey today?” Kenny asks the group at lunch, and Ian could kiss him for it. He’s been dying to ask Earl, but the anxiety has kept a tight hold of his tongue. 

“Out,” is all Earl says, and the rest of the parolees trade uncomfortable looks. 

Ian’s been avoiding eye contact with Earl all day, as if the guy is some extension of Mickey’s brain and so automatically knows _everything_. Earl’s not acting any different in general, but Ian’s still glad for the medication rounds he has to prepare for. 

He stares at his phone all afternoon as it rests on the table by the charts. He keeps willing it to ring or buzz or _something_ , just any small token to let him know Mickey is just busy and not avoiding him. 

Ian’s stomach cramps in hunger but he feels too sick to eat. The uncertainty of where he stands with Mickey is making him nauseous, and the voices of self doubt are chattering quietly as Ian tries to ignore them. 

— — 

Later that evening, as he sprawls across the couch with a can of soda in one hand and baby Fred asleep on his chest, Ian caves and messages Mickey. 

**Ian: Hey, just checking you’re doing okay. Can we talk tomorrow?**

He sets his phone on the arm of the couch and tries to concentrate on the TV. Fred grumbles in his sleep and squirms, probably ready to belt out a good loud cry, but Ian strokes his back soothingly and shushes him softly before he can wake up. After a few adorable noises, Fred rubs his nose against Ian’s t-shirt and settles again. 

“Damn, I wish I could afford to hire you as a full time nanny,” Tammi’s delicate voice interrupts Ian’s thoughts and he looks up to find her in the kitchen doorway smiling. 

Ian chuckles softly. “I don’t think any PO would advocate for childcare to become part of a parole work program. Actually, Paula probably would have —but, well…” 

Tammi giggles and drops onto the end of the couch, kicking off her shoes before tucking her feet beneath herself. 

“So, how’s the inappropriate crush on your boss coming along?” she asks breezily. Ian startles and gives her a confused look, pausing for a moment before huffing. 

“Fucking Lip,” he grumbles.

“Hey, there’s only so much pillow talk I can take about an infant’s shitting habits, okay? Besides, he didn’t give any details, just the footnotes.” 

Ian sighs and drops a soft kiss to the top of Fred’s head. 

“Horrifically soul crushing. I should be ready to jump off Navy Pier any moment now.”

Tammi winces. 

“Hang on a second…” She heaves herself forward and back on her feet, disappearing into the kitchen only to reappear moments later with two bottles of beer and a half full baby bottle. She sets her own bottle on the coffee table and then trades Ian his for the baby. Fred grizzles a little but coos happily when he realises he’s back in his mother’s arms. 

She settles back into her seat, cradling Fred in her arms as she feeds him. “Okay, go. What happened?”

Ian tries to think of a brief way to explain it, not because he doesn’t want Tammi to know but because he doesn’t want to set himself off on a collision course of verbal diarrhea. 

“I kissed him, or —well, he kissed me. I think. Anyway, we kissed. He was having a bad day and I went to check on him and found him a little bit drunk and we admitted to checking each other out a couple times and it just sort of happened.”

“So, what? You’re afraid he regrets it because he’d had a couple drinks?”

Ian shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Okay... then what happened?”

“Uhm, I took him to bed and then took care of his dogs.”

“Ew. That’s not a euphemism for—”

“No! What the fuck? He has his own rescue dogs, four of them. I took care of them and slept on his couch and when I woke up this morning, he was gone.”

Tammi smirks. “And let me guess, now he’s avoiding you and not answering your texts?”

“Yeah,” Ian nods, shoulders dropping, the solid weight of his self doubt settling deep in his stomach. “I guess he does regret it.”

“What are you gonna do?” Tammi asks, and that very question _must_ mean she’s in agreement. 

“Just ignore it, if I can,” Ian shrugs. “Hope things go back to normal. Or I could call my PO, tell him I can’t work there anymore.”

Ian would let himself get lost in a little pity party, but he’s too distracted by Tammi scowling and tutting and shaking her head. 

“Jesus Christ, men are dumb.”

“ _What_? What did _I_ do?” 

“Honestly, so fucking dumb. If procreation was totally up to you moody preadolescent apes the human race would be screwed.” 

“What the fuck, Tammi?” Ian snaps, probably a little too harshly but with the emotional rollercoaster he’s been on all day he thinks he’s probably entitled to it. 

“He doesn’t regret it, you idiot,” she chastises softly. 

“But he was upset, and he’d been drinking—” Ian tries but Tammi huffs and cuts him off. 

“I’ve heard enough about the Milkovich family over the years to know that no matter the amount of alcohol in their system, if they don’t wanna do something then they’re not gonna do it. Plus, I know what you’re like. Your Captain America ass wouldn’t have gone anywhere near his mouth if he was wasted. So you can cross ‘drunken mistake’ off your list right now.”

There’s a little ember of hope coming to life in Ian’s chest. “What is it then?”

Tammi sighs and shifts Fred in her arms until she can hold him against her shoulder and rub his back. “He’s probably just scared, Ian. And a little embarrassed about you seeing him upset. Guys don’t usually react well to being vulnerable. And if you don’t do something, he’ll do exactly what your dumb ass was thinking of doing and just ignore it.”

Though he was literally about to do the exact same thing, Ian bristles at the thought. “But that’s not fair. He can’t just ignore me, not after everything…”

Tammi’s lips are pressed together in a tight _see, men are dumb_ smile.

Ian groans and leans his head over the back of the couch. 

Fuck, men really are dumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly boys being silly boys.
> 
> Thanks for reading this chapter! I’ll be busy over the weekend so you’ll have to wait til next Thursday (possibly earlier) to find out what happens!


	7. Rottweiler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian’s a man on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not updating yesterday!
> 
> I had a bad mental health day and ended up going to sleep at 8pm and sleeping right through til morning. 
> 
> Anyway! Here’s chapter seven...

The following morning, Ian’s a man on a mission. 

Sleep had not found him easy the night before. He was too in his head about everything, too busy thinking things over and replaying every interaction, every moment, every flirtatious smirk, anything his brain could recall in enough detail for him to hyper focus on. 

Mandy doesn’t follow up from the day before, hasn’t messaged at all in fact since asking Ian to find her brother. That _must_ mean she either knows what happened or she’s heard from Mickey himself. 

Either way, it means that Mickey _has_ been ignoring him. 

He can still feel Mickey’s kiss when he’s in the shower, and he knows it’s more than likely in his head, but he still runs his tongue across his bottom lip and swears he can taste him. 

It’s the idea of not tasting Mickey’s kiss ever again that gets the adrenaline pumping through him. After weeks of wondering, even _hoping_ Mickey might have some interest in him, Ian now _knows_ he does. Always has. 

_“I only stole things so you’d notice me.”_ That’s what Mickey had said. More or less confirming that he’d been crushing on Ian since the beginning, too. 

Fuck, Ian wishes he were braver back then. Well, sleeping with a married guy when his wife was out was already pretty fucking brazen, but never in a million years would fifteen year old Ian Gallagher have guessed there was any outcome other than imminent death from hitting on Mickey Milkovich. 

But now he does know, and he isn’t fifteen anymore. 

They aren’t scared kids anymore. 

They’re not in prison. Terry is gone. Mickey is out. 

And they _like each other_. 

Fuck fear!

Now Ian’s pumped with annoyance and excitement as he power walks to the train station. He doesn’t take a seat, unable to keep himself still, so he holds on to the pole and bounces on his toes like he’s getting ready for a race. 

— —

“Where’s Mickey?” Ian demands as he stomps into the warehouse office. 

“Out,” Earl says as he brushes by on his way out, not even looking up to see the serious _not taking ‘no’ for an answer_ scowl Ian’s been practicing since he got off the train. 

Ian’s chest deflates. “Wait-”

“I wouldn’t,” Brian interrupts, and Ian only just realises he’s even there, grinning up at him from where he’s swirling around on the chair like a child. “Earl’s in a pretty bad mood today,” he sing-songs. “You might not wanna push him unless you wanna spend the rest of your probation on laundry duty.”

“But—”

“But I did happen to hear Earl on the phone just now, yelling about not going out on rescues alone, and I also just happen to know that we got a call about a possible stray hiding out at that derelict house on Elmwood.” 

“Okay—”

“And Mickey isn’t here…so, I don’t know,” Brian shrugs dramatically, reaching to pull his car keys out of his pocket. “Maybe all those things are connected.”

Ian smirks as Brian tosses him the keys. He doesn’t know what this guy does and doesn’t know but right now he doesn’t care. He loves him regardless. “Thanks, Brian.”

Brian winks.

— — 

The house is the easiest thing in the world to spot, sticking out like a sore thumb with its smashed up windows and decaying walls. Ian pulls up to the curb and gets out of the car in a rush, slamming the door in a huff of breath that he spends the next few seconds getting back. 

He’s gotten here in such a rush and now his brain feels blank. Everything that’s been propelling him to this spot has suddenly vanished and he’s staring blankly at the crumbling house wondering where all his annoyance has gone. 

He glances to the XK9 rescue van that’s parked just up the street, remembering the night they spent together, talking, learning, laughing and (what he now knows for sure was) _flirting_. Ian had felt so breathless as Mickey cut himself open, unraveling his secrets in front of him so that Ian felt comfortable enough to do the same. 

Ian can’t ignore that memory. He _won’t_.

Ah, _there’s_ that drive of frustration, coursing through his veins again as he kicks open the broken gate and stomps his way up the porch steps. The front door is open, well, what’s left of it, and Ian kicks through broken wood and the remains of ancient junk mail and dead leaves until he’s standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

He peers up them, blinking through the light as feathers of dust cascade down from the broken hall window. He hears shuffling upstairs that sounds a lot like Mickey’s boots, and a moment later he gets incontestable proof when he hears a not too distant thud followed by _“Mother-fucking fuck!”_

He takes the creaking stairs carefully but quickly, wanting to get to Mickey before he had time to come up with some bullshit about why he’s avoiding Ian. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” Mickey says as Ian almost crashes into him the second he turns at the top of the stairs. 

“I should ask you the same thing.” Ian takes a step back so Mickey can take in his crossed arms and not-taking-any-shit glare, chin jutted out for good measure. 

Even through the anger and confusion, it’s good to see Mickey’s face. He looks tired and annoyed, but his eyes are still making Ian feel weak. 

“Oh really?” Mickey replies sardonically, looping the rope leash he’s carrying around his neck. “And why should where I am have anything to do with you?” 

Ian doesn’t miss a beat. “Because it’s because of me! You’ve been wherever the hell you’ve been because you’re trying to make it go away.”

Mickey scoffs unconvincingly and turns, walking away from Ian to another room. Ian scuttles after him, refusing to let him get away. 

“Whatever, Gallagher. I got work to do.” Mickey stops in the middle of the empty bedroom, his shoulders raising as he pauses to take a breath. He spins back round to face Ian. “Make _what_ go away?” 

Ian wants to laugh and smirk and groan all at the same time. 

“You know what!” he snaps. “The other night, the panic attack — the fact that we kissed _twice_ and then you disappeared and ignored me. You made me feel like shit, like I’d fucking done something wrong.”

Mickey’s face softens considerably as Ian’s voice cracks a little beneath the weight of his desperation. He doesn’t mean to sound so pathetic but—Fuck! He just wants to understand _why_.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Mickey says quietly, having the decency to at least look guilty. “You were great. You were really great. Thank you for being there.” 

Ian huffs, not at all placated by Mickey’s soft words. “So, what? That’s it? Just gonna chalk it up to being good bros and move on?”

Mickey groans and rubs a hand over his face. “Why you acting like I got a choice in this, Ian? It’s complicated.” 

Ian’s name falls from Mickey’s mouth the same way it had done the other night, pleading and unsure. 

“Because you do have a choice, or did I miss the part where you’re secretly married with six kids?”

Mickey rolls his eyes and Ian wants to punch him so hard he can feel his fingers tucking tightly together. 

“For fuck sake, Ian, not everything is always so straightforward, y’know? This isn’t a good time, the rescue—”

“Bullshit!” Ian quickly interrupts. “I want the truth, Mickey.”

“I’ve got so much on my plate that—”

“Bullshit! Tell me why.”

“I can’t give focus to—”

“Bullshit!” Mickey groans so loud it turns into an angry yell. Ian doesn’t flinch. “Tell me why, right this very second, why we can’t be together?” Mickey stares hard at Ian’s face and Ian wants to close his eyes. “I really like you,” he says instead, trying so hard not to sound pleading. “And you like me too.”

It’s not a question, but still Mickey gulps and nods slowly. “Yeah, I like you.”

Though it’s not news, the confirmation feels like a small victory, and it’s satisfied the appetite of Ian’s anger enough that most of the adrenaline dissipates. Now he just feels sad. 

“Then _please_ , Mick. Tell me why we can’t—”

“Because you scare the shit out of me, okay?” Mickey finally admits, and the shock of it stuns Ian into silence. “The other night, just having you there, I’ve never had someone get through to me like that, get through that fucking fog of bullshit when my head gets too much. I had the best sleep of my _life_ just knowing you were there, and we weren’t even in the same room.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Mickey,” Ian whispers and Mickey sighs and shakes his head. 

“Yeah. It is.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because _why_ , Mickey.”

Mickey groans again and clenches his fists. “Because I don’t get nice things! When good things happen to me it’s never that way for long. Just like with the rescue and CTS, just like finally being rid of my evil homophobic father and then getting thrown in jail, just like everyone I ever gave a single shit about fucking leaving my ass alone to cope with all this fucking bullshit. Good shit just doesn’t work for me.”

The words are heavy as they hit Ian’s body and he feels his shoulders drop with the weight of them. He feels defeated. Almost. 

“Are you done?” Ian asks, unfolding his arms. 

Mickey blinks twice, offended. “What?”

“Are you done with your bullshit list of self-pity?”

Mickey steps closer, eyebrows dipping in annoyance. “Hey, fuck you—” 

“No, _fuck you_ , Mickey!” Ian storms over until there’s nothing between them but the accusing finger Ian jams into Mickey’s chest. “You think you’re the only one who’s scared or wants to protect themselves? You think you’re the only one who’s used to having shit go sideways? Who’s used to being left? I am fucking _terrified_ by everything I feel for you and your stupid perfect face. Not to mention the fact that I have a mental illness, my relationship past reads like a Who’s Who of human trash and yeah, there’s a part of me telling me to cut and run, but I’m fighting that feeling and all the other fear bullshit that’s been running around my head the last few weeks because I know there’s something good here.” 

Ian deflates and looks away from Mickey.

“And now I’m standing here with my fucking heart in my hands telling you that I want every part of you, all the amazing shit and the fucked up shit, and you’re just standingthere listing reasons not to be with me like it means nothing to—”

He never gets to finish as Mickey reaches up to grasp the back of Ian’s neck and tug him down into a hard kiss. Ian gasps in surprise, and Mickey quickly dives his tongue past Ian’s parted lips like he’s scared he’ll change his mind. Ian wraps an arm around Mickey's waist and hauls him impossibly close, his other hand finding purchase on the back of Mickey’s head. 

It’s not as tender as the other night but this kiss is nothing less than thrilling. They’re kissing like they’re consuming, hungry and starved and thrown in front of a feast. Ian sucks on Mickey’s bottom lip and Mickey groans, hand clenching around the fabric of Ian’s T-shirt. 

Ian kisses him harder with all the emotion he has in him, the passion and the anger, all the hope and desperation and the pure unbridled relief that he can taste exactly the same on Mickey’s tongue. He chases the flavour, licking it from the corners of Mickey’s mouth as Mickey cups Ian’s face with both hands. 

Mickey’s eyes are still closed when Ian’s flutter open, their faces still close as Ian’s mouth clings softly to Mickey’s bottom lip. When Mickey’s eyes finally do open, they find Ian’s searching gaze, silently questioning him. 

Mickey smiles and instantly Ian feels the weight in his chest evaporate as he gasps in relief. 

“Anyone who puts that much effort into a corny ass monologue must really be fucking sure,” Mickey smirks and Ian laughs wetly, ready to blame his watery eyes on the dust. Mickey tilts Ian’s head further forward so he can kiss the bride of Ian’s nose and Ian quickly closes his eyes again, this time ready for Mickey’s mouth when it lands on his. 

Ian steps forward and Mickey steps back with him, bodies automatically seeking a surface to press against. As they stumble blindly, there’s a loud creek that has them pulling apart and staring at each other in confusion. 

There’s a crack, then a snap, and then silence. 

“Was that—”

“—shit!”

The floor makes an unnatural sound of protest before completely giving way, sending Ian and Mickey hurtling through the living room ceiling, landing heavy on the ground in a cloud of dust and splinters. 

— —

“ _Fuuuck me_.” 

There’s ringing in Ian’s ears as he groans and rolls onto his back. The rubble beneath him jabs uncomfortably. He heaves out a heavy breath and pulls himself up slowly, blinking through the dust that’s yet to settle. 

“Mickey?” Ian coughs, rubbing at his eyes as he feels around blindly on the ground next to him. “Shit. Mick, you okay?”

“What the fuck?” Mickey groans slowly, and when Ian looks up he can see Mickey rolling onto his front, coughing against the ground. “We fell through the fucking floor?” 

“I think so.” Ian peers up at the hole in the ceiling. There’s water damage and a rancid smell coming from the warped wood above and around them. Ian’s surprised it didn’t crumble the second they stepped on it. 

Mickey tries to get to his hands and knees, but before he can make it he hisses sharply and falls forward again. “Motherfucker!”

“Mick, what’s— _holy fuck!_ ”

When Ian sees a six inch stick of broken wood protruding from the rip in Mickey’s t-shirt on the left side of his lower back, his heart stops. 

“What?” Mickey takes in Ian’s blanched face and turns to try and look over his shoulder to where Ian is staring. “What is it? What the fuck? Is that coming _out of me_? What the fuck?!” 

Mickey wriggles around as if it’ll somehow help him get a better look, but quickly Ian reaches out to him. “No! Shit. Stay still, you gotta stay still okay?”

“Fuck,” Mickey whimpers as Ian pulls off his hoodie and gets to his knees. 

He stares at the wound and then the panic on Mickey’s face. Something reassuring settles in his chest as Mickey finally nods. 

Relationships and emotions and being a healthy human being might not always be his forte, but this he knows. This he can do. 

“I need to pull it out so I can put pressure on the wound, okay?”

Mickey whimpers again, eyes wide and glassy. “What? No, leave it in. You gotta leave it in, right?”

“I can’t put pressure on the wound properly with it in the way. I have to take it out. It’s too small and the wound isn’t deep enough for any organ damage, but you could still get an infection. Let me do this, okay?” 

He searches Mickey’s face for trust. 

Mickey nods. “Okay,” he breathes. “I trust you.” 

With his hoodie wrapped over his hand, Ian presses firmly around the base of the wood. “Take a deep breath for me. On the count of three I’m gonna pull it out, okay?”

“Okay,” Mickey answers, unsure. He takes a breath. 

“One. Two—”

Before he can get to three, Ian pulls the piece of wood out with one firm tug.

“Motherfucker!” Mickey yelps, whole body tensing. 

“Sorry.” Ian quickly checks the wound and then presses down hard to stem the bleeding. Mickey hisses. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey groans, pale cheek pressed to the dirty floor as he huffs. 

Ian smiles softly, unable to ignore how attractive Mickey is even when injured and complaining. 

“It’s out. The wound isn’t too deep.” He fumbles in his pocket with his free hand. “Fuck, I left my phone in the car. Do you have yours?” 

Mickey closes his eyes and huffs again. “I don’t know. In my back pocket, I think. Not exactly the time for a selfie.”

Ian rolls his eyes and reaches into Mickey’s back pocket, sliding out his (hopefully unshattered) phone. “I need to call an ambulance.”

Mickey whips his head ‘round, eyes wide and scared. “What? You said it’s not deep. Can’t you just patch me up?”

“Mick, you could bleed out or have nerve damage or get an infection. This is gonna take more than a Spongebob bandaid.”

“Fuck, I hate hospitals.”

With his free hand, Ian squeezes Mickey’s shoulder reassuringly. 

“I’m gonna be with you the whole time,” he promises, already dialling. 

Mickey sighs. “You better.”

— —

Ian calls Earl from the ambulance. 

Earl doesn’t even sound pissed, more pleased that his point has been proven with perhaps a hint of concern. Mickey complains loudly in the background as the EMTs stop the bleeding and clean the wound, as well as administer some much needed painkillers, which probably lets Earl know he’s mostly okay. 

“Are they gonna look for the dog?” Mickey asks as the ambulance approaches the hospital. He pulls himself up onto his elbows, glancing over his shoulder and wincing. His T-shirt is rucked up to his armpits and Ian tries his best not to smooth his hand along Mickey’s pale spine. 

“Yeah, they’re sending Brian and Ernez to look.”

Ian keeps his hand on Mickey’s leg as he watches the EMTs work. He misses this, misses it so much that he wants to bat the guy’s hands away from the open wound and take over. He misses the adrenaline and the buzz. Misses the people. Yet he can’t bring himself to regret any move that brought him right here to this spot at Mickey’s side. 

“And get the van?”

Ian smiles and sighs softly. “Yes. And get the van.” 

The EMTs fling open the ambulance doors as they pull up to the emergency room entrance. Ian keeps a hand on the railing of the gurney as Mickey is wheeled into the noisy emergency room. He can see Mickey tighten visibly as he glances around the busy room. He gets it. The ER is an overwhelming place. It took Ian a long time to get used to all the sensations crowding his system. 

They wheel Mickey into his own curtain lined cubicle before the EMTs make their exit, advising a doctor will be with them soon. Ian thanks them and watches them leave before he crouches at the head of the flat gurney. He’s pleasantly surprised when Mickey grabs Ian’s hand in both of his. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says earnestly. Ian leans down to drop a sweet kiss to Mickey’s laced fingers. 

“Of course. Had to make sure you’re okay. Who else is gonna sign my parole sheet?”

Mickey grins at the joke, shoulders now not as high or stiff. Ian’s glad he’s here too. Though he’s not glad they’re _here_. He’d much rather they were making out and maybe venturing into some heavy petting. The thought pulls Ian’s gaze to Mickey’s lips, and though Mickey is tugging on the corner of the bottom one, his mouth still looks delicious. 

Mickey watches Ian’s face, watches his eyes focusing on his mouth. He releases his lip and licks it, and Ian leans in. He’s only human. 

“Alright, how we doing in here?” The curtain swishes back as a nurse bustles in. Ian pulls back and stands quickly, smiling at the nurse innocently as she smirks at the two men. “Don’t mind me, just came to get some vitals.”

Before she can pick up the chart left by the EMTs, Ian starts rattling off blood pressure, body temperature and oxygen saturation levels, as well as a brief description of the injury. 

“You a Doctor?” The nurse asks as she makes another note of the readings on the admission paperwork she’s holding. 

“EMT,” Ian replies. “Well, used to be.” 

“Will be again,” Mickey comments and Ian flushes. 

“Well, uhm. Hopefully, yeah. Someday.”

The nurse is grinning. “You just listen to your boyfriend, okay?” 

“Oh! We, uh,” Ian starts to stutter, glancing at Mickey for help only to find him smirking at the ground. 

“How’s the pain, hun?” The nurse asks Mickey, leaning around Ian’s side and completely ignoring his stammering. 

“Feels like I’ve been stabbed in the back,” Mickey deadpans. 

The nurse chuckles. “And how did this happen?” she asks, gesturing to the gauzed wound. 

“We fell through the shitty floor of a shitty house,” he grumbles.

“Well, that’s certainly one way to keep a relationship interesting.” She turns to Ian and waves her pen up and down. “Are you okay? Have you been checked over?”

Ian nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sore but nothing serious.”

“Well that’s lucky.”

Mickey scoffs. “Yeah, lucky I was there to break his fall.” He smiles at Ian, who grins back. God he wants to make so many comments about being on top of Mickey that he can practically feel his tongue vibrating. 

The nurse laughs and shakes her head. “You guys are too cute,” she comments, just as the curtain swishes back again and the doctor steps in, looping a stethoscope back around her neck. 

“Okay, gang. I’m Doctor Jackson. Fill me in here, tell me all your secrets,” she beams as she takes the chart from the nurse. 

“I spend my weekends knitting winter hats for my cat in all her favourite colours,” the nurse says solemnly. 

The doctor grimaces as she glances over the chart. “Wow, Trish, that’s just plain sad but also quite interesting. What about these two?” She nods to Ian and Mickey. 

“They fell for each other,” the nurse sighs dreamily, making Ian’s stomach tighten. 

Doctor Jackson continues reading the notes for a moment and then snorts, amused. “Through a floor?” She aims the question at Mickey and Ian chances a quick look at him, hoping to God he isn’t freaking out right now. 

Actually, he looks pretty entertained for a guy with a stab wound who was freaking out about the prospect of any relationship not long ago. 

Mickey shrugs. “Go big or go home.”

Doctor Jackson winks. “Exactly. Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

She moves to inspect the wound, snapping on a pair of purple latex gloves before removing the dressing. Ian can’t help standing next to her to watch as she lightly prods the skin around the wound. It’s been cleaned by the EMTs and packed, but it still looks gnarly. 

“Your pain meds kick in yet?” She asks Mickey, who takes a deep breath and nods. 

“Yeah, I think so. My leg’s starting to go numb.”

The doctor frowns. “Left leg?” She motions to it, as if Mickey can see. He nods again and her frown deepens. “Can you feel this?” She asks as she pinches the back of Mickey’s left thigh. 

“Feel what?” Mickey asks. Ian’s eyes widen with panic as he glances at the Doctor. She squeezes his right leg, hard. “Ow! What the fuck?”

Ian and the doctor both breathe a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Get Mr. Milkovich prepped for emergency surgery,” Doctor Jackson quickly instructs the nurse, snapping off her gloves. The nurse nods and hurries away. 

“What?” Mickey blanches, looking up at Ian fearfully. “Surgery?”

Ian wraps his fingers around Mickey’s wrist and squeezes softly. 

“You might have some nerve damage that needs repairing,” the doctor explains. “I need to get in there and see the full extent of the wound. Don’t worry,” she pauses to pat Mickey’s leg lightly and smiles reassuringly at Ian. “It’ll be fine.”

When she leaves, the nurse and two porters appear and begin pulling up the breaks from the wheels of Mickey’s gurney. Mickey looks around in panic. 

“Alright, cuties. Time to say goodbye,” the nurse breezes. The gurney is already starting to roll away and Ian follows the step or so it moves in protest before the nurse pauses the porters, shooting Ian a quick wink. 

Ian crouches by Mickey’s face, reaching out to cup his cheek softly. “I’ll see you real soon, okay?”

Mickey swallows thickly and nods. “You’re staying?”

Ian smiles fondly and leans forward to press a small kiss to Mickey’s cheek. “Of course. Take deep breaths if you get nervous. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Mickey takes a deep breath and rests his forehead against Ian’s. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

As soon as Ian stands, the porters are moving again. 

“Don’t worry!” The nurse calls back. “We’ll take good care of him!”

— — 

Ian paces. 

A lot. 

After updating Earl, Mandy, and the Gallagher group chat (foot notes, no details, just enough to keep away any panic) via text, Ian stalks around the waiting room in endless laps. 

He attempts to sit down once or twice but ends up clock watching and feeling itchy, so he’s back on his feet again trying to stomp out the uncomfortable feeling of uselessness coursing through him. 

“Jesus Christ, Tigger, will you please stop moving? You’re making me dizzy,” the nurse from before says as she leans over the nurse’s station. 

Ian stops and whips around to face her. “Is he okay? Have you heard anything?” 

She sighs and smiles softly, picking up the desk phone. “Man, I wish somebody was that concerned about me. Even Mrs. Snuffles thinks we need some space,” she says as she dials. 

Any other time, Ian would be tickled by this witty nurse, but right now he’s bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet as he listens to her brief conversation with whoever. 

“So?” Ian asks, stepping up close to the counter as soon as she says goodbye. 

“Your boy has literally just been wheeled into a recovery bay. Give me half an hour to finish off some paperwork and let his anesthetic wear off, then I’ll take you straight to him.”

“Did everything go okay? Is he okay?” 

God, he’s got no idea why he’s a nervous wreck. He knows plenty about routine surgery statistics and he’s been around the staff enough times as an EMT to know how dedicated they are, but that’s different. Trusting them with the general public is one thing, but Mickey is something far more precious to Ian. 

Though he’d expect her to be annoyed, the nurse sees his worry and simply smiles kindly, her voice calm as she tells him “He’s fine, I promise. The doctor will tell you more when you see her.” 

For some messed up reason the half an hour feels longer than the three he’s already waited. He does, however, manage to stay seated this time, his knee bouncing anxiously as he flips through a stack of dated magazines. 

Eventually, the nurse waves him over and leads him up another two floors and into a recovery ward. 

There he finds Mickey in the first bay, laying on his side with his eyes closed and breathing steadily. Ian is so fucking _relieved_ to see him. 

The nurse places a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “He’s still going to be a little groggy for a while. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

“Thank you so much nurse…”

“Trish,” she finishes. “And you’re welcome. I’ll just close this curtain and give you two some privacy.”

Ian takes the seat by Mickey’s bed as she leaves, and when the curtain swishes closed, he leans forward and rests a hand on top of Mickey’s. He just has to be sure he’s real. 

“Fuck, I’m glad you’re okay,” Ian breathes. 

“Why? Were you worried or something?” 

Ian flinches in surprise as Mickey cracks one eye open with a weak smirk. His voice is still a little croaky and his hair is a mess like he’s been asleep for days, but he looks okay. More than okay. He’s still so fucking beautiful. 

“Hey.” Ian shuffles closer and squeezes Mickey’s hand. “How you feeling?”

“Like someone poured glue over my brain,” Mickey grumbles before opening both eyes. He rubs his feet together. “Can feel both my legs again though.”

“Yeah? That’s great.” Ian glances at the closed curtain and then quickly snags the chart from the bottom of Mickey’s bed. 

As he reads, he hears Mickey sigh. From the corner of his eye he watches Mickey’s eyes flutter closed. 

“Want me to let you rest?” Ian asks quietly. 

Mickey blinks his eyes back open and wriggles his nose. Fuck, he’s adorable. 

“Nah, you can stay,” he says, and it sounds more like a request. “I’m just happy I woke up.”

Ian smiles softly and nods before going back to the chart. There’s no update on the success of the surgery, just Mickey’s medical info, treatment given that day and his insurance information. 

He spots the _Emergency Contact_ box and his heart does a double beat. 

“Huh,” he finds himself saying out loud, and Mickey looks at him quizzically. 

“S’up?” 

“They’ve put me as your ‘in case of emergency’. It says here that I’m your boyfriend.”

Mickey’s eyebrows raise, though he doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “Really, now? How’d they get your number, huh?”

Ian thinks back over the last few hours and then blushes. “Oh, Uh. The nurse, Trish, asked me to write down my contact information. I didn’t know it was for this though.”

“What? You thought she was just try’na get your digits?” Mickey teases. 

Ian shrugs. “I thought they were maybe just gonna call me when you came out, in case I wondered off or something.”

Mickey huffs out a small laugh. “Uh huh.”

“I mean, you could say it’s been medically recommended,” Ian says, leaning back in the chair. 

Mickey props his head on his hand, appearing more relaxed and awake. “What’s that?”

Ian smirks. “That I’m your boyfriend.”

Mickey barks out a laugh. “Man, you are relentless. How can you be my boyfriend when we haven’t even been on a date yet?” 

Yet. _Yet_. It makes Ian feel light and giddy. 

“That’s not true,” he says with a mock frown. “We’ve totally been on a date. What about the taco truck?” 

“How was that a date?”

“Did you like me then?” Ian asks, sounding hopeful even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. 

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher. Want me to circle Yes or No on a note?”

Ian shrugs one sided. “If it helps.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, lips twitching into a smile. “Yeah, I liked you then.”

He’s blushing. He’s fucking _blushing_ and Ian wants to kiss him all over his face. Instead he decides to play it a tad cooler than that, and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

“Good. I liked you too. See? We liked each other, went for food and got to know each other. That’s like the basis for any date.”

Mickey smiles, entertained. “I think you might be missing out a few details there.”

Ian flaps a hand at him. “Semantics. It was totally a date.” 

“So, does that make _this_ our second date?” Mickey asks, pausing to yawn. 

“I don’t think dates are supposed to end in the ER.”

“What? Are you even southside if you haven’t had a date end with a stab wound?”

Ian laughs joyfully, the sound making Mickey smile back at him. 

“Knock knock,” Doctor Jackson announces as she ducks in through the curtain. “How’s my favourite patient?”

“I need a beer,” Mickey grumbles. “And to wear something that covers my ass.” 

Ian instantly regrets not sitting on the other side of the bed. 

“Well, I wouldn’t advise the beer with the pain meds, but your man can bring you some fresh clothes when we release you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Ian parrots. 

Doctor Jackson nods. “Yup. Surgery went well, only minor nerve damage to repair. We’ll keep you in overnight for observation but everything looks set to have you home by tomorrow evening. I’ll book you in some physio for the next few weeks and you’re going to have to be on bed rest for at least the next ten days.” 

Mickey frowns. “Yeah, that’s not possible.”

“It’s not optional,” the doctor shoots back sternly. “You’re not going to be much use to anyone if you tear your wound or get an infection.” 

“Listen to her, Mick,” Ian says softly. “The rescue will be fine without you. Plus, you’re not exactly far, and you know the guys are more afraid of Earl than you anyway.” 

Mickey huffs stubbornly. “The dogs, Gallagher. I’ve got most of the fear aggressive ones in training. They’ll let Earl feed and walk them, but there’s no way he can take over the training.”

“Then we’ll bring in help, or Earl will just do it anyway because he’s as stubborn as you are. You need to give yourself time to heal. And I can help. I can stay at yours tonight with the pack, make sure Sweetie doesn’t send out a search party.” 

Mickey stares at Ian like he’s a puzzle he’s only just figuring out. “Fine,” he sighs, relenting. 

Doctor Jackson smirks and pets the top of Ian’s head. “This one’s a keeper. I’ll check on you both later.” She taps Ian’s shoulder to get his attention. “Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Ian nods before turning back to Mickey with a grin. 

After the doctor leaves, Ian finds himself pulled quickly by the collar of his t-shirt until his lips crash against Mickey’s dry ones. It’s a quick kiss, a brief press of lips and nothing more, but it still manages to set Ian alight. 

“You are going to be the most annoying boyfriend,” Mickey mumbles into Ian’s mouth. 

Ian smirks, and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, right? FINALLY!
> 
> I’m about half way through chapter 8 so I should have it with you late next week. 
> 
> It’s my wife’s 30th at the end of September and my 30th two weeks later, so updates might get a bit sporadic over the next few weeks or so. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love and support I’ve had for this fic since I started posting. I really love these characters and all the wonderful doggos 🐾


	8. Irish Setter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian faces the guys at the rescue, takes care of the pack, and helps his boyfriend home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy ♥️

It’s early evening when Ian finally leaves the hospital. Mickey hands over his keys from the bag of personal effects at his bedside, and starts giving Ian instructions on the pack before Ian reminds him he’s taken care of them before. 

“Right, yeah. Of course,” Mickey says, and Ian can tell he’s starting to feel flustered and nervous again about being left in a hospital overnight. 

Ian squeezes Mickey’s bicep softly. “It’s just one night. All you have to do is get some rest, choke down whatever shitty hospital food they give you, and then I can come and get you tomorrow.”

Mickey’s gaze shifts over Ian’s face as if he’s trying to think up a protest, but just like before, he simply ends up biting on his bottom lip and nodding. 

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Ian grins triumphantly. He pulls Mickey’s phone out of the bag and hands it over. “Call your sister and fill her in.”

“Huh? You said you told her about the accident,” Mickey says, puzzled. 

Ian smirks and rolls his eyes before leaning forward to kiss Mickey softly. His lips are warmer now and not as chapped as before, and Ian wants to pull at the plump pink pillows with his teeth. 

He doesn’t, though. Because he knows if he starts he won’t be able to stop. 

“Wasn’t talking about that bit,” Ian murmurs, lips brushing feather light against Mickey’s as he speaks. 

Before Ian can pull away, Mickey surges forward again and kisses Ian hard. Whatever self restraint Mickey had been holding onto over the last 24 hours has clearly vanished without a trace, and Ian decides to let their mouths celebrate. He opens to Mickey with very little persuasion, getting lost in the soft velvet heat of the kiss. 

Mickey sighs as Ian’s tongue caresses the roof of his mouth, and Ian decides to explore what other noises he can pull from Mickey as his hand creeps to the nape of Mickey’s neck. 

“Christ, you two. He isn’t leaving for war!” Nurse Trish hollers as she strolls by. 

They pull apart quickly with a sticky wet noise that makes Ian shudder. He knows his face is flushed and pupils blown, because Mickey looks exactly the same. 

“I’ll text you when I get to yours,” Ian breathes, a little dizzy and a lot turned on. “Let you know how the dogs are.”

“Uh huh.” Mickey nods slowly and swallows, eyes fixed on Ian’s mouth like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. 

“So, I’m - uh, gonna go now,” Ian says, his own gaze on Mickey’s shiny kiss-stained lips. 

“Okay,” Mickey replies, barely above a whisper as he cups the side of Ian’s face and brings their mouths close again. 

Ian sucks in a breath. “Gonna leave, right now.”

Mickey smirks. “Sure.”

Five minutes later, when Nurse Trish hollers at them again as she walks by in the opposite direction, they finally part, lips spit slicked and buzzing as they stare at each other with want. 

Ian licks his lips and Mickey groans, pushing him back with a hand on his chest.

“Ugh, I can’t jerk off in a hospital. Get the fuck out of here.”

— — 

“Thanks for the ride,” Ian says as he dumps himself into the passenger seat. 

“No worries,” Brian grins, shooting Ian a knowing look as he pulls away from the hospital entrance. After a few moments of awkward silence, he pipes up again. “Y'know that’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone smiling after visiting someone in hospital.”

Ian whips his head round to face Brian, away from the window he’s been dreamily staring out of. He sucks the corner of his cheek between his teeth in a futile attempt to stop himself from smiling. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he deadpans. 

Brian smirks “Uh huh.”

“I’m just a naturally happy guy,” Ian adds. 

“Of course. Nothing to do with the fact your mouth looks like you’ve made out with a Hoover hose.”

Ian immediately touches his warm lips with his fingertips and Brian snickers. Ian shoots him an annoyed glare as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, which only makes Brian laugh harder. 

“Just shut up and drive,” he grumbles. 

It takes a while for Brian’s giggles to die down. He knows Ian’s not really annoyed, and Ian knows he’s only teasing, though he’s still surprised when Brian says, “Honestly, I think you guys are great together.”

Ian stares at him incredulously. “You do?”

“Hell yeah. I know we said all that shit before about Mickey not doing relationships, but the guy needs someone to balance him out, stop him bottling shit up until he’s ripping dog kennels apart.”

Ian rolls his shoulders back uncomfortably. “I don’t wanna be his keeper.”

Brian snorts. “That job was taken by Sweetie _years_ ago dude. Besides, I just meant that Mickey deserves something for himself, y’know? He does so much good, it’s nice to see him get something good back.”

Ian’s cheeks tinge pink as he glances out of the window again. “Yeah. He deserves good things.”

And isn’t that the understatement of the decade? Because Ian knows Mickey doesn’t just deserve good things, he deserves _great_ things. The best things. The universe owes Mickey Milkovich a god damn parade, national holiday and key to any city he damn well wants for the shit he’s been through. 

“Plus it’s been a nightmare watching you two pine over each other for weeks,” Brian chuckles. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s been entertaining as hell.”

“Wait, hold up,” Ian interrupts. “Does everyone know?” 

Brian shrugs. “Pretty much. Kenny was the first to figure it out because, well...because he’s _Kenny_. Most of the guys have caught on. Maybe not Ernez because he’s oblivious to most things.” Ian must look panicked, because Brian pauses and gives him a quick reassuring smile. “No one cares, Ian.”

“Mickey will care,” Ian says quietly, a pang of sudden worry tugging at his chest. 

“What? You think he was gonna keep you his dirty little secret?” Brian laughs. “Not likely. I’m expecting a deliriously happy Mickey Milkovich for the foreseeable future. I’m talkin’ loved up, heart eyes, fucked out— well, once the wounds heal, looks like he could float away carried by his own inflated ego kind of happy.”

Ian blushes and turns back to the window. “I’ll do my very best,” he says. 

“I’m sure you will,” Brian winks. “Oh, we found the dog Mickey was looking for at the death trap house, by the way. A young tan pit bull. He’s in relatively good condition. Doctor Julie’s keeping him for the night.”

“That’s great! At least the whole thing wasn’t for nothing.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure no one would have thought that,” Brian smirks. 

Ian shoves at Brian half heartedly. “Shut up. Take me to White Castle, I’m starving.”

— — 

The happy floaty feeling coursing through Ian’s body takes a quick nose dive when he walks back into the rescue and finds Earl at the bottom of the fire escape stairs scowling at him thunderously. 

Ian freezes beneath his glare, and he holds out a take out bag like a peace offering. “Burger?”

Earl eyes the bag for a moment before snatching it from Ian’s grasp with a huff. 

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a burger to make up for your disappearing act,” he grumbles. “Had to put the kid on your row and now I owe that smartass a favour.”

“At least Mickey didn’t do the rescue alone,” Ian replies with a smile as innocent and hopeful as he can muster. 

Earl grunts and pulls the burger out of the paper bag before balling it up in his fist and throwing it at Ian’s head. 

“You’re on laundry next week,” he says, and Ian’s just about to remind him it’s not supposed to be a punishment when Cooper comes skittering down the metal steps in his little booties. 

“Heya, Coop!” Ian enthuses, and the lab wags his tail in excitement, pressing his nose into Ian’s outstretched hand. He peers round Ian and then looks up at him with a confused head tilt, silently asking where Mickey is. 

“They’ve just been walked,” Earl says through a mouthful of burger, tearing off a small piece and tossing it at Cooper. “Mickey called, said you were staying with them.”

Ian sighs dejectedly. “I told him to rest and not do work shit.”

Earl barks out a short laugh. “And you expected him to listen? Man, you definitely are in the honeymoon phase.” 

There’s an awkward pause as Ian opens and closes his mouth like a dumbstruck fish, and there’s a moment when he contemplates straight up denial, but he quickly decides against it. 

Fuck fear, right? 

“If that were true he’d listen to me,” Ian says with an exasperated sigh. 

Earl doesn’t look surprised or shocked or smug, just raises the cheeseburger at him and nods. “Yeah, good luck with that. I saved the boy from getting shivved over jello cups and he still doesn’t listen to a damn thing I say.” 

Cooper barks once impatiently and Ian leans downs to ruffle his ear. 

“I take it he’s still freaking out about his trainees?”

Earl takes a deep breath. “Yup.”

“Think you could handle it? Comfortably?” Ian asks. Earl obviously knows his shit but Ian’s still new and not yet acquainted with the ‘work in progress’ (as Mickey likes to call them) dogs. Earl nods, and Ian shrugs. “You’re the Mickey when Mickey isn’t here, you said it yourself.”

The corner of Earl’s mouth twitches into an almost smile. 

“Okay,” he says, tossing the last bit of his burger to Cooper to keep him quiet for a few more moments. “But I’m gonna need another one of the guys with me, probably Ernez, so the rest of you will have to pick up his jobs.”

“Deal.”

Ian winks at Cooper, who’s stamping his booted paws on the ground like it’s time to go. 

— — 

The rest of the pack clamber down off the couch when Ian and Cooper walk into Mickey’s office. The twins are happy to see Ian, wagging tails and happy little grizzles, but Sweetie stares at the closed door intently, not moving a muscle. 

Ian greets the twins with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, scratching behind their ears and feeding them treats from Mickey’s desk. 

“Hey, Sweetie. You want a treat?” Ian asks, treat held aloft. She’s still glancing at the door every few seconds, but eventually the tempting treat is too much and she swallows hungrily. Ian smiles and tosses her a treat. 

“Alright gang, lets go!” Ian announces, opening the door to the staircase. The twins and Cooper immediately rush for the stairs, but when Ian turns back, Sweetie hasn’t moved. 

Ian sighs. “Come on, girl,” he says kindly. Sweetie jumps down from the couch and pads over to the office door, sitting obediently on the welcome mat. She lets out a quiet little whine that tugs at Ian’s heart. 

“Mickey isn’t coming home tonight.” Ian’s aware he’s talking to her like she’ll answer back, but he has a feeling the usual baby voice he uses for the other dogs would get him a swift bite to the balls. And he’s rather fond of his balls. 

“He’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises and Sweetie swings her head to face him. 

For a few seconds she simply regards him sternly, and Ian can’t help but be reminded of Mickey’s stubborn little face. 

From the top of the stairs, Cooper barks sharply. 

“C’mon,” Ian says softly, nodding towards the stairs. “I think Cooper wants to kick off his shoes and relax.” 

Sweetie stares, huffs, and then plods towards the stairs, not looking back as Ian locks the doors behind them. 

Pulling back the door to Mickey’s apartment, it feels like forever ago since Ian was last here, despite it only being a few days. It’s strange to see the place without Mickey in it, like the whole apartment is just waiting for his return. 

Ian pulls the door closed and drops the keys on the small end table by the couch. Cooper nudges at Ian’s leg with his nose, sitting down obediently and offering up a booted paw. 

“Sure,” Ian smiles, crouching down to carefully unvelcro each bootie. “There you go, buddy.”

Without pause the dogs head over to the kitchen to stand by their empty bowls and look at Ian expectantly. 

“Alright, alright,” Ian sighs with a fond smile. “I’m coming.” 

Ian feeds the dogs and pours himself a glass of water. He leans back against the counter and sips slowly from the glass as he watches the dogs chow down. In all this quiet, Ian realises how goddamn _exhausted_ he is. 

It’s not surprising. It’s been one hell of a day. 

As if the realisation caused it, Ian’s body suddenly aches all over. He rolls his shoulders back and his head from side to side, wincing against the tight muscles that strain uncomfortably. 

Fuck, he wants a shower. A really fucking hot shower.

But this isn’t his place. None of his things are here and he only has a single strip of emergency meds in his wallet. This is the second time he’s had an impromptu sleepover in this place and somehow he feels more cautious and on edge now than he did the first time. 

He thinks about what Mickey said back at the house, about having the best night's sleep just being in the same apartment. Ian feels that now, every word of it. 

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he quickly taps out a message. 

**Ian: Rescue is still in one piece. Pack all fed. Mind if I grab a shower?**

He sends it and reads over it again, and then the grey ellipsis blinks to let him know that Mickey’s typing. Ian’s stomach clenches with excitement. 

**Mickey: Mind that I won’t be there the first time you’re naked in my apartment.**

Ian feels his grin stretching his cheeks until his whole face aches. 

**Mickey: But sure, knock yourself out.**

**Ian: Very gracious of you to suffer so I can smell better.**

Ian pads over to the bathroom and flips on the light. It’s a weird bathroom. There’s no window and the tiles are incredibly white, but the shower cubicle looks roomy as hell. 

As he strips off, his phone buzzes from by the sink. 

**Mickey: What can I say? I’m a selfless human and I suffer willingly knowing that some good is happening in the world, even if I can’t experience it for myself.**

**Ian: My thoughts are with you during this trying time. Your sacrifices won’t go unrewarded for long.**

**Mickey: Yeah?**

Ian’s breath hitches. He can practically hear Mickey’s low rumbling voice as he says it, gritty but smooth, like a white sandy beach. 

**Mickey: How long?**

Ian swallows and licks his lips. It’s hard to read into exactly how much of a flirty little shit Mickey’s trying to be over text, but given the wink emoji that follows, Ian guesses it’s a lot. 

Glancing at his naked torso in the mirror, Ian stands up straight and snaps a picture. The sink covers anything below the navel, and Ian’s probably pulling a dumb pouty face he’s seen in countless profile pictures on Grindr, but he sends it off quickly before he can over think it. 

He takes a deep breath. 

**Mickey: Damn that was fast**

Ian’s about to type _that’s what he said_ when another message comes through. 

**Mickey: Kinda like being selfless if that’s what it gets me.**

**Ian: See, every cloud has a sexy lining.**

Oh, God, he’s such a dork.

**Mickey: Dork!**

Ian blushes, despite himself. 

**Mickey: Go shower.**

Grinning, Ian texts back a thumbs up emoji and obeys. 

— — 

**Ian: Your dogs don’t do anything.**

Ian’s out of the shower and standing in the middle of the living area in his boxers and T-shirt, watching the dogs laze over the couch, not unlike the last time he was here. 

**Mickey: What did you expect them to do? Card tricks?**

Ian smiles and perches on the arm of the couch, the dogs making no attempt to let him have enough room to sit. 

**Ian: IDK. Thought they’d be running riot. I think they miss you.**

**Mickey: Or they’re just trying to lull you into a false sense of security.**

Ian shifts to snap a close up photo of Cooper’s face with his large sad eyes, and sends it. 

**Mickey: I miss them too.**

Ian aww’s out loud and turns the phone so the dogs can read Mickey’s message. “See. Your daddy misses you.”

**Mickey: Wish I was there with you guys.**

Ian’s cheeks flush as he chews on his lips, afraid if he lets go the smile will split his face clean in two. He slides on to the couch, wedging himself between the armrest and Raph’s side. He snaps a selfie, grateful that his long arms enable him to get the couch full of dogs in. 

**Ian: So do we.**

He sets his phone down and flips on the TV, figuring an hour or so of normalcy will probably be a good thing. He’s only ten minutes into an episode of CSI when his phone buzzes again. 

**Mandy: Only you would jump feet first into a relationship without knowing what they’re like in bed.**

He chortles, disturbing Raph and earning a kick to the thigh for his troubles. 

**Ian: How’d you know I don’t?**

**Mandy: Because the only time my brother is ever in a good mood is when he’s had some top shelf D and he’s still grumpy as ever.**

Ian laughs quietly for a moment and then gasps as the implication hits him. Mickey’s a bottom? Ian feels his heart race in excitement. Sure, he knew this conversation would come up at some point, and in his fantasies Mickey is a very enthusiastic bottom, but everything’s happened so fast he’s barely had a moment to think about the reality of it. 

**Ian: Are you saying you think I’m top shelf?**

The next bunch of messages come through in quick succession. 

**Mandy: Assface.**   
**Mandy: happy for you guys btw**  
 **Mandy: hurt him and I’ll gut you.**  
 **Mandy: don’t worry, I told him the same thing.**

Ian smiles fondly to himself. 

**Ian: Come see us soon 😘**

— — 

An hour later, after another episode of CSI and a few back and forth texts to Mickey about awful hospital food, Ian yawns and stretches out on the couch. 

“Alright, bedtime!” he announces, and almost instantly the four dogs flop off the couch and lazily make their way over to their respective crates. 

”Damn. Mickey must run a pretty tight ship around here.”

It’s only when Ian’s standing by Mickey’s bed that he realises, _fuck_. He’s about to get into Mickey’s bed. Without Mickey. He’s thought about this moment a hundred times, but not like this. 

It feels weirdly intimate sliding into someone else’s bed when they’re not around, like opening their journal or something. The sheets are cool against Ian’s legs and he shuffles until he’s comfortable. He’s on Mickey’s side and immediately he’s filled with the scent of Mickey. It's nice. It’s comforting. 

He rolls over to drop his phone onto the bedside table, next to a small square box of Kleenex. He pauses and smirks, suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge to open the bottom drawer of Mickey’s nightstand, excited thoughts racing over what he might find in there. 

It would probably confirm if Mickey were a bottom or not. 

Ian knows he shouldn’t snoop, especially not on something so private. But God he wants to know. 

He chews his lip for a moment and then scoops up his phone. 

**Ian: Damn your bed is comfy.**

**Mickey: Yeah, yeah. Don’t jerk off on my nice sheets.**

**Ian: Well, there go my evening plans. Guess I could just borrow this pretty impressive butt plug I found.**

Ian’s not a total creep, he’s not gonna go rifling through someone’s drawers. Still, doesn’t mean he won’t be a manipulative little shit. 

**Mickey: YOU SNOOPED?!**

Ian grins. Bingo. 

**Ian: Nope. Just curious to know if you were a bottom or not.**

**Mickey: God that is such a top move. Knew you were a top you cocky fucker!**

Ian feels childish and giddy. Happy. 

**Ian: Spoken like a true bossy bottom.**

**Mickey: Fuck off. I’m going to sleep now. See you tomorrow?**

The question mark makes Ian smile. 

**Ian: I’ll be there.**

**Mickey: Alright, Jackson 5. Night.**

**Ian: Bye-bye, bottom!**

**Mickey: Ta-ta, top!**

Ian buries his face into Mickey’s pillow and breathes in deep. 

He’s sound asleep in minutes. 

— — 

“Can someone help me out here?” Kenny hollers from the gates. 

It’s a little after eight and Ian’s already up and dressed (in yesterday’s clothes). He’s walked the pack and settled them in the office and is just about to make a start on the two rows he has to clean and feed, when he hears Kenny calling. 

When Ian steps outside the gates, Kenny’s crouched by a nervous looking black and white dog. The dog’s leash is tied to the railings and Kenny is sweet talking the cautious animal, reaching out slowly with a treat on his flat palm. 

The dog licks it up and Kenny smiles softly. “Good boy,” he praises. 

“What’s happened?” Ian asks, staying in the dog’s line of vision and using a gentle voice.

Kenny stands slowly and sighs. “Just found him tied here. People do that sometimes, just leave ‘em at a shelter so they’re someone else’s problem.”

“Poor thing.” Ian steps closer tentatively but waits for the dog to move towards him before he reaches out to pet him. “Hey, buddy. Bad day, huh?” 

Kenny nods solemnly, untying the dog’s leash from the bars. “Hey, there’s a name on his collar. Rocket.” The dog quickly looks up at him. “Hi, Rocket.”

“He looks well fed and in good shape,” Ian notes. “He’s definitely a pet.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna ask Earl if I can take him to Doctor Julie for a check over.”

“Earl and Ernez are working with Mickey’s trainees, so we’re gonna need all hands on deck for the morning chores. Why don’t you set him up in a quiet kennel next to one of the oldies, and you can take him to see the doc this afternoon?”

Kenny nods. “Yes, boss.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “I’m not your boss, man.”

Kenny shrugs. “Kinda like a step-boss now, though.”

It takes a moment for Ian to catch on, but Kenny’s shit eating grin certainly helps him get there faster. 

“Fuck off,” Ian says, trying his hardest to sound annoyed but not quite managing it. 

“Oh, is that an order?” Kenny smirks. Ian shakes his head in disbelief and flips the little shit off. Kenny cackles. “I’m happy for you, seriously. No one has been waiting for this longer than me!”

“Brian said you were the first to figure it out.” Ian shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Didn’t take a detective. It was pretty obvious. You guys have had mega gay rainbows shooting from your eyes whenever you’re together since practically day one.”

“I don’t think that’s an insult, but it feels like an insult.”

Kenny grins and claps a hand on Ian’s shoulder as he walks by. 

“You should name your first born Kenny, as thanks.”

Ian turns to argue but Kenny’s already striding away laughing, his new buddy Rocket in tow.

— — 

Ian’s day is busy. 

Ian’s day is so fucking busy. 

His phone is also fucking busy because people _won’t stop texting_. 

Mickey he doesn’t mind. Not really. The guy’s a control freak when it comes to this place but Ian gets it. He would be too. So he puts up with Mickey’s barrage of texts and answers as softly as possible. 

He’s not as thoughtful with Mandy and Lip but, whatever. They’re not in hospital recovering from surgery and he certainly doesn’t want to sleep with either of them, so they can deal with his short replies and demands to leave him alone. Not that either of them listens. 

**Lip: Okay. So once again. Just so I’m completely up to speed. Mickey was sad and then you kissed. Then Mickey disappeared and when you found him you argued, kissed again and he fell through a floor leaving Mickey needing minor surgery. And all of this ended with you guys getting together.**

**Ian: Yep. Pretty much. Anyway gotta go, lots to do.**

**Lip: Does this mean I can finally start using all the doggy style jokes I’ve been saving up?**

**Ian: I’m blocking you now.**

— — 

When Ian’s finished with his med rounds, it’s well past lunchtime. He’s already exhausted from double row kennel duty with Kenny this morning. There’s a weak tremor to his hands as his stomach gurgles, and so when he’s back in the office he steals a Snickers bar from Earl’s secret stash. 

God, he wants ice cream. Or a slushy. He’s equal parts hungry and thirsty and now he wants a giant Icee. 

He’s wondering how he can sneak by Earl to go buy one when he feels his pocket vibrate. 

**Mickey: I’m free! Come bust me out of this bedpan hell hole.**  
 **Mickey: Bring me some Pinkberry too.**  
 **Mickey: And comfy clothes.**  
 **Mickey: Please**  
 **Mickey: Thank you**

Ian grins and grabs the van keys from the desk. 

— — 

The Pinkberry is a little melted by the time Ian gets it to its intended destination, but Mickey’s eyes still light up when he sees it. 

“Holy shit, how did you know I wanted banana chips and chocolate curls?” Mickey says, eyes wide and happy, completely fixated on the cup of deliciousness like Cooper following a treat. 

Ian lets the backpack slide off his shoulders and plonks himself in the chair by the bed, sipping on his slurpy in an attempt at nonchalance, to hide his excitement at seeing Mickey again despite it being less than 24 hours later. 

“Lucky guess,” he shrugs, which of course is a complete lie. He’d noticed an almost empty bag of banana chips in Mickey’s kitchen cupboards the first time he’d been there. “How are you feeling?”

Mickey’s already digging into his froyo, sucking chocolate sauce off the little pink spoon. Ian tries not to stare, purposely averting his gaze and glancing around the small curtained cubicle. 

“Better,” he says, shovelling another spoonful of goodness into his mouth and moaning in satisfaction. “They got good drugs in here. Almost makes up for the prison grade food.” 

“That explains why you’re going to town on that Pinkberry like it just bought you an expensive dinner.”

Mickey grins, usual flirty hook in his eyebrow as he looks Ian up and down. “Why? You jealous?”

Ian flushes, opening his mouth to answer something sassy when the curtain swishes back and Doctor Jackson steps in. 

“Hello, boys!” she announces. “Ah, I see your Little Red Riding Hunk has brought you snacks, and here I am, a hardworking civil servant, tired and severely lacking in both frozen treats and hunks.”

“Sorry, doc,” Mickey smirks. “I’m sure if he’s ever around when you fall through a ceiling and get impaled on a piece of wood, he’ll happily bring you some Pinkberry. Ain’t that right, Gallagher?”

“I think _impaled_ is a bit of a strong term,” Ian frowns and Mickey immediately rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey waves his spoon between Ian and the doctor. “Just tell him the crap you told me so I can finally cover my ass up and get out of here.” 

Ian and the doc shoot Mickey matching glares of soft annoyance as Mickey grins back like a naughty toddler, face full of yogurt and chocolate. 

“He’s on bed rest for ten days. That means no working, no driving, and no physical activity of any kind. Yes, I said _any_ kind,” she looks at the pair of them poignantly. Ian bites his lip to keep from blushing and Mickey looks inconvenienced. 

“Well you’re no fun,” Mickey grumbles. 

“Neither is a weeping wound in the middle of sex,” the doc shoots back. They both grimace. 

“What about pain management?” Ian asks, desperate to change the subject. 

“I’ve written a script for two weeks worth of painkillers. They can cause fatigue and nausea so don’t take them on an empty stomach. Come back in a week so I can repack the wound and check on your progress.”

“So I’m good to go?” Mickey asks, placing the now empty tub on his bed table. 

Doctor Jackson nods, pulling the prescription from her pocket and handing it to Ian. “He’s going to need help with pretty much everything for the first few days, even if he complains and glares at you a lot.”

Ian grins and looks back at Mickey. “Wow, you’ve been here such a short time and yet she knows you so well.”

Mickey glares and flips him off. 

— — 

From the passenger seat of the van, Mickey slurps the rest of Ian’s slurpee, and again Ian finds it hard not to stare at his mouth. The way those lips wrap around the neon straw makes Ian want to groan and swallow thickly. 

He swears he usually has more self control than this, but Mickey’s been making Ian feel like a teenager since, well...since he actually was a teenager, and Ian isn’t used to having this level of feeling for someone who he’s only shared a handful of (amazing) kisses. 

Plus, the fact that Mickey’s lounging in sweats, boots and a sleeveless hoodie looking like a southside thug wet dream probably doesn’t help. 

“Who’d Earl get in to help with the WIP dogs?” Mickey asks, and instantly Ian’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “I gave him a couple numbers. Who’d he end up calling?” 

Ian doesn’t reply, just presses his lips together and hums like he’s in deep thought. When he glances back to Mickey, he finds him glaring suspiciously. 

“Who’d he call, Ian?”

“Uhm…”

“Ian…”

“Uhm…”

“Tell me he isn’t handling them alone,” Mickey groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Ian breathes out slowly. “He isn’t handling them alone…”

“Good.”

“...Ernez is helping.”

“What?!” Mickey snaps, shooting up in his seat, pulling his back uncomfortably and yelping at the pain that shoots through his tired body. “Fuck!” 

“Shit, be _careful_ , Mickey!” Ian chastises gently, eyes wide with worry as Mickey whimpers. “No more work talk.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey protests, arms crossing over his chest. It’d probably look more threatening if he didn’t have a blue stain around his lips. 

Ian looks back at him with silent pleading. 

They finally pull up to the back entrance of the rescue, and Ian kills the engine and sits back in his seat. 

“Mick, I know this place is your baby, and I know it’s hard to give control to someone else, but you have to trust yourself.”

“Myself? That’s not—”

Ian holds up a hand to silence him. “You picked these guys. You trained them. Earl’s been with you since the start and you’re a great teacher. He wouldn’t want to do it if he didn’t think he could. You need to rest and _heal_ , otherwise you’ll be out of action for a lot longer than ten days.”

Mickey says nothing for a moment, just regards Ian with something unreadable. 

He sighs. 

“I guess you might be right.”

Ian pops open the door and winks. “Of course I am. Now quit complaining and let me help you to bed.”

“Promise?” Mickey smirks. 

“Down boy,” Ian laughs, hopping out of the van and opening Mickey’s door for him. 

He slips an arm around Mickey and helps him towards the stairs to the office. The noise of the rescue distracts Mickey, and Ian can feel him start to pull towards the warehouse. 

“At least let me check on—”

“Nope.” Ian pulls him away gently, hand firm on Mickey’s waist. His body is warm and the material of his hoodie soft against Ian’s hand. 

“You’re a mean boyfriend,” Mickey grumbles and Ian’s breath hitches. He can’t help it. 

He’s so gone on this guy. 

— — 

Getting up the office stairs isn’t as difficult as Ian first thought. However, once they get into the office and the pack sees them, getting up to the apartment is more than challenging. 

Thanks to Mickey’s training, none of the dogs jump at them, though their excitement at seeing Mickey again is still clear. Their tails wag like fans, knocking over paperwork in small gusts of air. They sniff at Mickey intently, wondering what the strange smell is as he pets them. 

Mickey’s smile when he sees them makes Ian melt, and he’s reminded of the previous night when Sweetie sat whining at the door. These dogs really love Mickey, and Ian doesn’t blame them. 

In the apartment, Ian helps Mickey into the bedroom before making him stand there while Ian arranges the pillows just so, allowing Mickey to be supported as he lays on his side. When Mickey’s finally settled, he notices the dogs all standing at the bedroom door. 

“They not coming in?” Ian asks.

“Nah. This is my crate, they have theirs. They don’t come in here much. The couch is for cuddle time.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Ian grins, and Mickey shakes his head with a small, tired laugh. 

“Alright, I’m here safe. Hand me my phone and get back to work,” Mickey grumbles and yawns. 

“Yes, boss,” Ian replies, handing over Mickey’s phone from the dresser. 

He brings Mickey a glass of water and his painkillers before kissing his forehead sweetly and doing as Mickey says. He needs to get back anyway, he’s still got a vet run with Kenny and the evening walks to get through, so playing nurse will have to wait a few more hours. 

When Ian returns to check on Mickey less than two hours later, he finds him snoring softly, blanketed beneath a cocoon of (also snoring) dogs. 

With a grin that aches his cheeks, Ian snaps a quick picture and leaves the pack to their rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll never stop saying thank you for all the love and support you guys have shown me and my little fic. 
> 
> I know it’s not laden with plot or drama (though I promise other stuff will happen eventually), but I love stories where the get together isn’t overly complicated. I mean, we all love a good slow burn, but sometimes it’s just nice to watch them fall in love. 
> 
> I’m also a little bit attached to all the imaginary doggos I’ve created for this fic. Most of the names/breeds/personalities come from rescue dogs I see around online or on the TV, because rescue really is the best breed. There will be more coming up about Mickey’s Work In Progress dogs, as well as the prison programmes XK9 gets their parolees from. 
> 
> I’m trying my best to update weekly, though my mental health hasn’t been the greatest lately. Your comments have kept me going on days where I’ve just wanted to delete everything I’ve ever written, so thank you for that. 
> 
> See you next time, pooches 🐾


	9. English Shepherd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian has a very busy day.

Ian wakes up slowly. The summer morning is already bright and vivid, even this early, and it gradually bleeds into the darkness of Ian’s sleep until he’s slowly blinking awake. 

Mickey’s face is just inches from his own. They’re still separated by the cocoon of pillows surrounding Mickey to keep him on his side while he sleeps, but somehow in the night, Mickey’s shuffled the whole structure closer to Ian. He looks beautiful.

Ian’s never been drawn to watching someone sleep before. Well, except for his younger siblings. But he genuinely feels like he could lie here all day and watch the gentle stillness of Mickey’s breathing. His hair looks so dark against the white pillow beneath it, and Ian can’t stop himself from reaching out to run his hand over the top of Mickey’s head. He holds his breath as he does so, like maybe it’ll help him concentrate hard enough to etch this perfect moment of waking up with Mickey for the first time sharply into his memory. 

They’d gone to bed early. Ian had been exhausted, bringing pizza for dinner after walking the pack. It had been such a long day, so Ian didn’t protest when Mickey told him to get into bed. It had only been awkward for a moment as Ian stripped down to his boxers and T-shirt, Ian too exhausted and hungry and aching to be close to Mickey to keep up the feeling for long. 

Then it was just them. As if this was the way it had always been.

They watched a movie on Mickey’s iPad and ate pizza, sharing the crusts with the dogs who were flopped all over the bed. Ian doesn’t remember the end of the movie. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. All he can recall is Mickey’s warm voice mumbling movie commentary, and feeling so perfectly content. 

“Creep,” Mickey whispers, evidently not as deep in sleep as Ian had originally thought. 

He blushes, _busted_ , and Mickey’s blue eyes blink open to smirk at him teasingly. He nuzzles softly into Ian’s hand, smirk softening into a rested smile. 

“Hi,” Ian says, lifting his head off the pillow to drop a tender kiss to Mickey’s temple. 

“C’mere,” Mickey purrs, a hand on Ian’s neck to stop him getting too far when he pulls back. 

“Wait, haven’t brushed my-” Ian tries to protest weakly, but Mickey gives a gruff little mutter that seems to mean _I don’t give a fuck_ as he pulls their mouths together. 

The kiss is deep from the onset. Their mouths are sleep-warm and unhurried, Ian’s tongue sliding thick and slow against the roof of Mickey’s mouth as Mickey’s fingers press into the nape of Ian’s neck. It’s languid and perfect. Morning breath and all. 

“Time is it?” Mickey asks when the kiss breaks naturally, fingers still rubbing at the short hairs at the base of Ian’s skull. It feels good. Comfortable. Perfect. 

Ian sets a tentative hand on Mickey’s side, mindful of the bandage. 

“Before seven,” Ian answers, because that’s all he knows. His alarm hasn’t started shrieking yet and the dogs aren’t demanding breakfast, so it must still be early. 

Mickey scowls and reaches under his pillow, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen. He groans, displeased. “It’s five thirty in the morning.” He throws the phone down again and props his head on his hand. 

“Guess I did fall asleep kinda early. Sorry,” Ian says, hand rubbing comfortingly over Mickey’s hip. Mickey hums and licks his lips, then lets himself sway forward and into another kiss. It’s easy and warm and slow, like early summer mornings. 

“Feel free to apologise like that whenever you wake me up with your creep face,” Mickey smirks. 

Ian tastes Mickey’s lips again, just a sip of a kiss, pulling back quick before he loses himself and gets drunk. “Guess I’ll stick around then.”

Mickey chews on his own lip for a moment like he’s choosing words carefully. “You don’t have to stay,” he says, and Ian gives him a confused head tilt. “I mean, I want you to, I just know it’s the weekend and all so-”

The flustered, hopeful look on Mickey’s face makes Ian want to kiss him, _consume him_. Pull him so close to his chest his whole world becomes nothing but Mickey. 

“Mick,” Ian says with a soft look. “Shut up, okay? Told you I was gonna help you, there’s no timer on that. Besides,” Ian pauses so he can brush a few stray hairs from Mickey’s face. “I _want_ to be here.”

Mickey smiles, kisses Ian quick. Then he groans and flops back down on his front. 

“Ugh,” Mickey grumbles dramatically into the pillow. 

“What’s up?” Ian chuckles, stroking the back of Mickey’s neck with feather light touches. 

Mickey turns his face towards Ian and huffs. “We can’t bang for like, ten days.”

Ian laughs and leans down to peck Mickey’s cheek over and over until Mickey bats him away with feigned annoyance. 

After another quick kiss, Ian rolls off the bed and begins to tug on his jeans. “I’m gonna grab some shit from my place before. I can’t spend another day in this underwear.” 

Mickey snorts into his pillow. “Sexy.”

“Just tryna’ help us through the next ten days.”

Mickey huffs and pulls himself back onto his side. “Take the van. Don’t wanna be hauling your shit back on the L.” 

“Thanks,” Ian says, stuffing his feet into his shoes. “You want some coffee or breakfast before I go?”

Mickey hums in thought for a moment. “Well, since you can’t fuck me I suppose pancakes could be an acceptable alternative.”

— — 

“There’s a stranger in the living room,” Lip comments from the kitchen. The rest of the siblings look over from their various positions around the kitchen, and Franny squeals excitedly when Ian steps into the kitchen. 

“Uncle Ian!” She runs at him full force and he scoops her up, swinging her in circles as she giggles wildly. 

“Heya, munchkin!”

“Coffee?” Debbie asks, already handing him a cup. 

“Mm, thanks,” Ian says as he takes it gratefully. 

“Walk of shame?” Debbie questions with a knowing grin, looking Ian up and down in his rumpled clothing. 

“He’s _injured_ ,” Ian sighs. “No shameless walking for a while.” 

“I have a nurse’s outfit you could borrow,” Tammi pipes up from the kitchen table with a chuckle. 

“Hey!” Lip protests as the other siblings simply comment _ew, gross!_

“Well, as much as I’d like to continue this terrifying overshare, I just came to grab some stuff,” Ian says, nodding towards the stairs. 

“Oh, yeah? You moving out?” Lip asks, smirking. 

“I call his bed!” Carl calls through a half chewed mouthful of cereal. 

Ian punches his younger brother in the shoulder. “I’m not moving out, assface, just staying at Mickey’s to help out with the dogs.”

“That’s not a euphemism for anything, I’ve been assured!” Tammi announces to the room. 

Ian rolls his eyes and heads for the stairs, clasping a hand over Liam’s head and kissing baby Freddy in his high chair as he passes. 

They haven’t discussed how long Ian will stay, not after the weekend. Still, Ian packs roughly ten days worth of clothes and meds. 

Ten days of pills looks like a lot. Five pills in each section of his seven day dose box. A couple boxes for backup. Suddenly he feels kind of nervous. He stuffs his toothpaste and toothbrush over the boxes, almost self consciously. It’s stupid, he knows, but his anxiety doesn’t seem to care. 

Mickey knows Ian’s sick. He knows Ian’s shit can get, for lack of a better word, _crazy_. Anyone who watches the five o'clock news regularly knows how bad Ian’s shit can get. But there’s a whole world between mentally stable and a news segment, so many ticks and triggers and _quirks_ Ian’s been working hard to manage since his arrest. He’s good at it now, and well fucking practiced, yet still things can crack for whatever reason, or for no reason at all. 

Ian takes a deep breath and breathes it out slow. 

Fuck fear. 

There’s a soft knock on the open bathroom door, and Ian turns to see Lip leaning in the doorway. 

“You all packed up?” 

Ian shakes his head. “Fuck off. It’s not for long.”

Lip smirks. “Wow. Last time you didn’t know if he liked you, and now you’re moving in. You guys move quicker than a couple lesbos.”

Ian clasps a hand on Lip’s shoulder as he moves by. “Thanks for the support.”

Lip turns quickly, following Ian out of the bathroom. “I do support you. I knew he liked you, and I think it’s great you’re making a go of it. Just be careful, okay?” 

Ian knows Lip is just being Lip, and if anyone else said the things his older brother says sometimes Ian would rip their heads off (which they’ve done to each other once or twice over the years). But Lip is different. Lip cares so much, so fiercely, he doesn’t always realise the way his words can come across. 

“I will,” Ian says, before pulling his brother into a hug. 

“Soft bitch,” Lip whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to Ian’s cheek. 

— — 

With his bag in the passenger seat of the van, Ian’s halfway back to the rescue when Brian calls him with an emergency. 

He’d come across a stray dog in the junkyard by his house on his way to work. The owner had never seen the poor animal before, and now it was huddled under the body of a half stripped pickup truck, shaking and refusing to move. 

“Looks like a weak little thing, think it’s been in a fight or something,” Brian says when Ian arrives. 

They pull out a crate and throw a few treats inside before sitting on the uncomfortable gravel, a foot or so from the truck. 

The dog is dirty and clearly afraid. It’s fur is caked in mud and dirt, and Ian can’t really tell for sure in the darkness but he’s pretty sure the dog is meant to be white. He is medium build, a big head and small ears pinned back in fear. 

“Hey, cutie,” Ian says gently, and the dog backs up a little. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay,” Brian soothes, but the dog’s eyes still twitch wearily from one man to the other. 

“How long you been trying to get him out?” Ian asks quietly, watching as Brian rips open a bag of smelly dog treats. 

“About forty minutes. The yard owner’s been trying since last night. Hasn’t eaten anything but drank the water he offered. Had to push the bowl all the way to the back.” 

Brian breaks one of the dried sausages in half and tosses it beneath the pickup. The dog flinches as the treat skitters across the gravel just by his front paws. 

They sit there for a little while, talking quietly amongst themselves, pausing every now and then to coo at and soothe the frightened animal. They take turns gently tossing a few treats near the dog, and he chews nervously at one that lands close enough but doesn’t make a move to touch the others. 

Brian gets an aggravated text from Earl when they’re approaching the hour mark since Ian’s arrival, and Ian presses the heels of his palms into his eyes in frustration. 

Ian’s phone buzzes and he groans, expecting a chastising message from Earl. 

**Mickey: totally not thinking about work or anything but on a completely unrelated note sometimes nervous dogs just need a nudge.**

Ian laughs shortly through his nose and thumbs over the call option. 

“Thought I told Sweetie to hide your phone,” Ian says after Mickey greets him with an innocent hello. 

“I know all her hiding places, plus I’m taller than she is,” Mickey explains, and Ian can practically feel his cocky little smirk through the phone. 

“Ah, think I’m starting to understand the whole dog thing a little better now. Who told you about the rescue?”

Ian guesses Kenny. 

“Kenny. He brought me his favourite retro game boy, which made me feel about a hundred. How’s the dog?” 

Ian sighs as he tilts his head to watch the dog stare back at him blankly. “Poor thing is terrified. He’s under a truck and won’t come anywhere near us.”

“Any signs of aggression?” 

“No, doesn’t seem to be aggressive,” Ian says, shooting a look to Brian for confirmation. Brian shakes his head shortly. “No aggression. Just really fucking scared.”

“You might have to give him a nudge. There should be a broom in the back of the van, block off all but one exit and nudge him out gently with it. Brian should be able to leash and crate him, lanky fucker can really move when he needs to.”

“A broom?” Ian’s chest tightens anxiously. Brian gets to his feet and picks up the van keys from the ground. “Uhm, shouldn’t I call Earl or one of the other guys to do it? I haven’t been doing this al—”

“Gallagher,” Mickey interrupts sternly, like he does when one of the twins is nosing at the treat jar. “He’s not going to come out on his own. You can do this. Just gentle prods, like when you’re trying to wake up a hobo on your lawn, y’know?”

Ian snorts and thinks of Frank. “Yeah, I know.”

“Otherwise the poor guy is gonna stay hidden under there until he starves.”

“Okay,” Ian says quietly. 

“You can do this. Brian knows what he’s doing and so do you. Now, go rescue the dog, take him to Julie and then bring me one of Earl’s secret Snickers.” 

Ian laughs. “It’s like you want me to be on laundry duty forever.”

“Try washing inmate gruds for six years, bitch. Then you can complain. My body _needs_ chocolate and sugar.”

Looking over his shoulder, Ian checks Brian’s still in the van before dropping his voice all sultry and low. “Oh, that’s what your body needs, huh?” 

Mickey groans. “Fuck off, Gallagher, or put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, I’ll—”

“No! I can’t jerk off on my front but if you don’t stop I’ll do it on your side and make you sleep in the wet patch.”

Ian grins and his stomach fizzles. _Your side your side your side_ , his brain chants. 

“Okay, gotta go help the needy, fight crime, and all that jazz.” 

Mickey snorts. “Okay, tough guy. Just remember, you can do this.”

— — 

Mickey was right. He was exactly spot on. His plan so perfectly fitting the type of rescue needed that Ian can’t help but silently marvel at how amazing his boyfriend is as he drives to the vet. 

Ian had felt such a swell of pride as he stood from the ground, broom in hand, just in time to see Brian close the crate door on the confused dog. 

Mickey was right. Ian could do it. He did it, and it feels great. 

Brian’s following behind in his car and the dog is crated in the back of the van, whining quietly. Ian starts to talk to him, just chatting away in a gentle, easy tone to softly fill the silence. Gradually, the whines get less and less. 

The dog isn’t aggressive at all, just scared and confused and obviously hurt. Doctor Julie takes one look at the sad, dirty dog and waves them straight through to the examination room. 

“He’s about two or three,” she says as she examines the dog’s teeth. 

“What? He looks like an old man,” Brian says with a twitching brow. 

Doctor Julie sighs solemnly. “He’s heavily malnourished with older, poorly healed injuries and some new ones. They suggest dog fighting.”

Ian’s stomach drops in sorrow. His chest tightens in anger. The shaking dog looks up at him with sad brown eyes and Ian wants to wrap one arm around the poor thing whilst using the other to beat whoever did this. 

“He’s not aggressive,” Ian states quietly, rubbing his palm against the side of the dog’s head. The dog doesn’t respond, but doesn’t move away either. 

“If they don’t show the right levels of aggression in training, they can end up as bait dogs. This guy must have been lucky enough to escape.”

Ian feels sick. Brian’s frowning just as deep, even though Ian knows he must have seen this countless times before. He doesn’t blame him. Ian could never get used to this. 

“Will he be okay?” Ian asks.

Doctor Julie nods. “Should be, but I’ll let you know more tomorrow. What are we naming this dude?”

“Brian found him, so it’s up to him.”

Brian smiles softly, rounding the table until he can take the dog’s face in both hands. He’s a little more responsive to Brian’s touch. Ian doesn’t take it personally. 

“He looks like a ‘Champion’ to me,” Brian declares. 

Doctor Julie nods again. “Perfect. Champion it is.”

— — 

Ian doesn’t have a moment to spare when they return from the vet. He throws his bag into the warehouse office and sets about restocking the medications for the rounds he’s already late for. 

He ends up handing Kenny the Snickers, asking him to run it up to Mickey, to which Kenny makes some boyish comment about not taking Ian’s place for any other ‘snack errands’, and dodging out the room before Ian can punch him in the arm. 

After he’s done, Ian grabs them lunch from the deli on the corner. He tells himself it’s a gesture of thanks for helping with the rescue, and for sure it is, but mostly Ian just wants an excuse to be near Mickey again. 

When he gets up to the apartment, Mickey’s sitting up in bed watching videos on YouTube. Mickey grins and pushes his laptop away as Ian steps in holding up the brown paper bag.

“Thought you might have worked up an appetite,” Ian jokes, and Mickey quickly flips him off before making grabby hands at the bag.

“Holy fuck, is that a teriyaki chicken bagel?” Mickey breathes in wonder, pulling out the wrapped bagel and cradling it close to his chest. 

Ian smirks. “Well, you said they were your favourite.”

“ _—yo muh fah-rut,_ ” Mickey says through a mouthful of bagel, already happily chewing away as Ian tries to play it cool that Mickey just called him his favourite. 

He sits on the edge of the bed by Mickey’s side and pulls out his own box of chilli and lime salted fries, letting Mickey steal a few in exchange for a bite of the bagel. Ian moans through his own mouthful of the delicious sandwich. 

“Oh my god, that’s fucking amazing,” he groans, and Mickey stares at his face while licking his lips. “What?” Ian asks, finally swallowing down the food. 

Mickey sighs. “You’re not doing a very good job of making yourself _not_ irresistible, man.”

Ian can’t help the grin that splits his face. “Really?”

Mickey rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Like you don’t know you’re gorgeous.” 

Ian quickly grabs the back of Mickey’s neck and pulls him in for a short kiss, still with plenty of wet warm tongue that makes them both shiver. 

When they pull back, Mickey’s eyes flicker over Ian’s face before he whines and shoves at Ian’s chest. 

“And now you taste fucking delicious too.”

Ian winks, “Always do,” and Mickey shoves at him again and kicks him out. 

— — 

Ian’s last job of the day is patching up a nasty graze on Ernez’s hand after he scraped it along the wall dodging out of the way of a lunging dog. 

“It was my fault. Don’t tell Mickey,” is all Ernez has to say on the matter, and Ian presses his lips together, uncertain, but ends up nodding. 

When he’s finally all done he’s fucking exhausted, so when he gets to the bottom of Mickey’s office stairs to see Brian already leading the pack down for their evening walk, Ian wants to kiss him. 

“Mickey’s up there adamant he’s allowed to shower,” Brian says as he approaches. 

The twins nose at Ian’s empty hands looking for treats, though they seem pretty satisfied with the ear scritches they get instead. 

“He’s not allowed to get the bandage or the wound wet,” Ian groans, glaring up the stairs as if somehow Mickey will see. 

Brian shrugs. “Good luck, man. I’ll lock up when I bring these guys back.”

Ian reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He’s tired as hell but still manages to take both the office and apartment stairs two at a time, sliding back the heavy door just in time to hear the bathroom door close. 

“Oh no you don’t, Milkovich!” Ian hollers, striding to the bathroom door to pound on it. “Get your crippled ass out here.”

“Fuck off, Gallagher!” comes the venomless reply, but the door budges just a touch as Mickey shoves down the handle, letting Ian inside. 

Mickey’s leaning against the sink in just his boxer shorts, arms folded over his chest as he glares hard at the ground. Ian lets his eyes drag over Mickey’s body appreciatively, all pale skin stretched thin over deceptively impressive muscles. 

Ian pins his eyes back to Mickey’s face quickly. 

“I just want a fucking shower, man,” Mickey grumbles, looking genuinely fed up. “I feel like I still got the house and the hospital all over me.”

“Just because you can’t shower doesn’t mean you can’t get clean,” Ian says softly. 

Mickey’s brow arches close to his hairline. “Oh, yeah? You gonna give me a sponge bath, Gallagher?” 

— 

“Well, this is _not_ how I expected the first time you saw me naked to go.” 

Ian laughs as he holds the towel up so Mickey can drop his boxers and perch on the closed toilet seat. He drops the towel over Mickey’s lap and turns off the tap, the sink now filled with warm soapy water. 

“Don’t worry, you can wash your own junk,” Ian says, dipping a cloth into the water before wringing it out a little. 

Ian drops to his knees in front of Mickey, resting on the folded towel he’d placed there moments ago. Mickey’s staring hard at Ian’s face, lips slightly parted like he’s about to start panting. 

The towel shifts slightly as Mickey’s dick begins to react to the _everything_ of the whole situation, his cheeks quickly heating as Ian chews the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. 

“Biology has not been kind to me this week,” Mickey mumbles, and Ian can’t help the little giggle that slips out. It seems to relax Mickey some, and Ian drops a kiss to his naked knee. 

“I’ll make sure biology makes it up to you next week.”

Mickey groans. “ _Not_ helping.” 

Ian grins mischievously and starts rubbing the soapy cloth up and down Mickey’s shin. He tugs at the back of Mickey’s ankle, pulling his foot up so he can rest it on his thigh. Ian drags the warm cloth over Mickey’s tired muscles, scrubbing gently at Mickey’s calf, knee ditch, ankle and foot. 

When he tugs the back of Mickey’s other ankle to do the same to the other leg, Ian glances up to find Mickey watching him with stunned awe. 

“I used to wash my younger siblings like this when there was no hot water, which was all the time before my sister started paying the bills,” Ian explains softly, not missing the way Mickey’s expression shifts and melts into a warm fondness. 

“I think my first hot shower was in juvie,” Mickey says, and there’s a pause before the two men break into laughter. 

Ian leans over to the sink to re-wet the cloth and wring it out before turning his attention to Mickey’s thick thighs. Ian finds himself holding his breath to stop himself from groaning at the strong muscle wrapped in milky white skin, depriving his brain of oxygen, the only thing he can do to stop it running away on some hot fantasy of those glorious thighs wrapped tight around his waist. 

“Man, you better get that dreamy look off your face,” Mickey warns. “Unless you wanna get hit in the face with my dick.” Ian shrugs like he really wouldn’t mind, and Mickey groans in frustration, shoving Ian’s shoulder. “Cut it out,” he says, aiming for stern but missing the mark completely as he chuckles and smiles down at Ian. 

Dipping the cloth back in the water, Ian methodically and tenderly scrubs at Mickey’s skin, working his way up Mickey’s body. Mickey’s stomach clenches and quivers beneath Ian’s touch, and Ian keeps his eyes on the body part he’s cleaning, fearing if he looks Mickey in the eye he won’t be able to keep his hands on an innocent track. 

Mickey lets out an unsteady breath when Ian washes over his pecs. Ian smiles, about to say something smartass when his eyes catch on a smudge of a mark on the left side of Mickey’s chest. 

Mickey grumbles, “Don’t give me shit, man.”

Ian’s eyes widen a little in panic. “What? No, Mickey…” He reaches out to trace his fingers over the dark, uneven letters. “I wouldn’t.” He looks up at Mickey earnestly, who seems to relax beneath Ian’s soft regard. 

“I wasn’t in a good place when I was inside,” Mickey says, rubbing at his jaw, “when Casper died. I just, I just wanted to have her with me again.”

There’s a moment where Mickey looks soft and vulnerable, like when Ian first kissed him after CTS, or when they were in the emergency room. Ian rises on his knees, dropping the cloth and cupping Mickey’s face in both hands. He kisses Mickey hard on the mouth, pulling back a little just so he can kiss him again, hear that little intake of breath again. 

They end up just staring at each other, glancing over each other’s faces with something so much more than want and need. 

It’s trust. 

Mickey chews on his lip and shrugs. “Anyways, the guys in lockup gave me shit for the tattoo and I might have tried to shiv Big Joe in the eye.”

Ian giggles and bumps their noses together. “Of course you did, you soft hearted bad ass.” 

“This from the life saving arsonist?” Mickey shoots back with a cheeky brow arch. 

Ian leans back in, Mickey’s mouth puckering like he’s expecting another kiss, but Ian dodges his mouth at the last second and bites at Mickey’s chin. 

“Wash your junk, tough guy, so I can change your dressing.” 

— — 

With Mickey bathed and his bandages changed, Ian grabs him a pair of pyjama pants and a tank from the bedroom. He lets Mickey change in peace, heading to the kitchen to shove some pizza bagels in the oven because Mickey’s been talking about them non-stop for the last eight minutes. 

“How can someone have so many opinions on pizza bagels?” Ian mutters to himself as he sets the timer on his phone. 

By the time Mickey shuffles out of the bathroom in his socks and pjs, the dogs are back from their walk. Brian hollers a _Goodnight_ up the stairs as the dogs rush in, and when Mickey drops down gently onto the couch, Ian’s already got three of the four booties off of Cooper’s feet. 

The twins immediately jump onto the couch, wedging themselves into Mickey’s side. Ian frowns as the pitbulls beat him to his intended seat, and just as he moves to sit on the opposite end, Cooper and Sweetie jump onto the couch as well. 

“Oh, come on!” Ian complains as Mickey chuckles. He pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and lays it on the floor, sending the dogs back down. The twins and Cooper obey, and Sweetie trots across the couch to curl into Mickey’s side. 

“Sweetie,” Mickey warns softly, though he tugs at her ear affectionately. 

“It’s fine,” Ian sighs, flopping down on the couch next to them. “Probably for the best anyway.” 

Mickey nods in understanding and stretches his legs out until his feet are nestled on top of the pile of dogs on the ground. 

When Ian brings out the pizza bagels, Mickey throws on some stand-up comedy show on the TV. Ian sets the plate between them, and they eat and laugh, tearing off small bites to feed to the small heads that appear on their knees. 

“Thank you,” Mickey says when Ian gets back from clearing the plate at the next commercial break.

Ian shrugs as he sits back down. “Just pizza bagels, man.”

Mickey shakes his head and reaches out to rest a tentative hand on Ian’s thigh. 

“Wasn’t talking about the pizza bagels, Ian.”

The use of his name makes Ian’s eyes snap up to Mickey’s. He’s looking at Ian with so much appreciation and genuine care that it makes Ian’s breath stutter. 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, slipping a hand over Mickey’s and lacing their fingers together. 

Mickey smiles and leans in, eyes fixed to Ian’s lips as they draw ever closer. 

From the ground, one of the dogs turns in their sleep and farts out something truly unholy. Ian and Mickey pull apart to gag and waft uselessly at the smell, demanding to know which dog it was, but the beasts stare up at them innocently. 

It’s going to be a long ten days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Don’t worry! Our boys won’t be fighting those carnal urges for long. It’s been relatively slow paced so far, but it’ll get a smidge quicker from now on. There’s still more fun to be had with horny boys!
> 
> Next chapter will have some actual plot, as a treat 😆 
> 
> If you’re still there then THANK YOU ♥️  
> It took a lot for me to get this chapter out. October is not a great time for me despite it being my birthday month. It was my birthday yesterday 🎉 I’m officially old. 
> 
> I also wanted to say thank you for all the sweet messages I’ve had checking in on my mental health ❤️ I’m doing good considering I could be homeless in the next four weeks. Hopefully not. That would suck. 
> 
> I’m really loving writing this lil ficcy though. It’s so nice to have something drama free in my life 😆 
> 
> Thank you for all the support.


	10. Chihuahua

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey are in a bubble of sexually frustrated domestic bliss.

Although Ian hasn’t been this sexually frustrated since highschool, being around Mickey is quickly becoming his favourite pastime. 

It’s a testament to their upbringing that they slide so easily into cohabitation, having spent most of their childhood in homes with constantly changing occupancy. Plus, once you’ve been to prison, you can live with pretty much anyone. 

Saturday ends up being such an amazing day, despite nothing noteworthy happening. Ian wakes early to Mickey’s peaceful face, goes for a run with the pack, greets the weekend volunteers and returns to the apartment to shower and kiss Mickey awake. 

Mickey coils himself sleepily around Ian’s half naked body, morning wood poking Ian’s thigh as Mickey tucks his face into Ian’s neck. Mickey’s so clingy when he’s sleepy, and Ian absolutely loves it — even if it does kill him to be pressed against Mickey’s compact body. 

“When you gotta leave for therapy?” Mickey mumbles through a yawn. 

“Twenty minutes,” Ian replies, hand skating up and down Mickey’s warm back, skirting around the bandages. 

Mickey hums and rubs himself against Ian’s thigh. “Plenty of time for a quickie.”

Ian groans but doesn’t pull away, even when Mickey presses his lips to that soft spot right below Ian’s ear. 

“Mick,” he breathes, hooking his long fingers around the back of Mickey’s neck and urging their mouths together. 

They’re so good at making out like teenagers now they could compete professionally. Mickey loves his morning kisses, slow and slick and sleepy. Ian loves to indulge him, even if it does bring them dangerously close to disobeying doctor's orders. 

Still, Ian doesn’t pull away until he feels Mickey pushing on his shoulder, trying to get him flat on his back, presumably so he can climb on top of him. 

And _fuck_ , Ian wants to let him. He really fucking wants to let him, but if Mickey’s recovery gets pushed back it’s not going to be helpful to anybody. 

And Earl will kill them in their sleep. 

“I gotta go,” Ian says with apologetic little kisses to Mickey’s face. 

Mickey’s replying nuzzle is forgiving, but he still wails in frustration and rolls carefully away. 

“Bring me back a sandwich, if you got time,” Mickey yawns, closing his eyes again. 

By the time Ian returns with their lunch, Mickey is sitting on the couch in clean sweats and a t-shirt, drinking from a can of Coke and surrounded by the dogs. Ian hands over the bag of food and pulls Coop out of the way so he can sink into Mickey’s side, head on his shoulder. 

Mickey kisses Ian’s temple. “Good day?”

Ian smiles, thinks of Liam, and nods before settling back into the embrace. 

Coming home to Mickey is definitely something he could get used to. 

— —

They build up a nice little routine that makes Ian feel so comfortable he doesn’t even manage to feel anxious about staying longer than the weekend. Neither of them even brings it up, and on Sunday evening Mickey throws his feet into Ian’s lap and asks what he wants to watch before bed. 

It doesn’t get any easier, the whole _no sex_ deal, especially as Mickey makes it his mission to be as much of a tempting little shit as possible. 

It seems that Mickey _really_ likes to make out in the morning, all languid and noisy with their spit slicked lips and the little moans at the back of his throat that go straight to Ian’s dick. It’s frustrating as shit but it’s still Ian’s favourite part of waking up, and the more Mickey heals, the closer he gets to Ian during the night. Ian wakes up one morning to Mickey lying over his chest, breathing gently and looking gorgeous. 

Mickey also likes to keep eye contact when Ian helps him wash. He licks his lips and keeps an intense gaze on Ian as he scrubs at Mickey’s naked body, towel still over his lap but hiding nothing. And really, what’s the point anymore? They’ve both had so many awkward boners around each other Mickey’s loft apartment is starting to feel like a highschool locker room. 

Honestly, Ian doesn’t know how Mickey is keeping his sanity. Ian’s guiltily jerked off in the shower a ridiculous number of times to say he spent the vast majority of his time in incarceration celibate. That probably wouldn’t have gone so well if he’d been locked up with Mickey. God, he would have done nothing but fuck Mickey — with his blue eyes and soft lips, strong hands and thick thighs — he would have had Mickey all over that damn prison; in their cell, in the laundry room, hidden behind the pew in the chapel...fucking _everywhere_. 

Ian shakes the thought away as he sits on the couch, a respectful distance between the two men after putting the brakes on another heated make out session. 

When Ian chances a glance at Mickey, his brain short circuits. 

Mickey’s sucking on a fucking _ice pop_ like it’s his last meal. 

_When the fuck did he get that?_ Ian asks himself as he watches Mickey suck obscenely at the blue frozen treat, lips puckered in a tight circle and cheeks drawn in. He even makes a little humming noise as he sucks the pop down again. 

Fuck, Ian wants him so bad. He wants that perfect filthy mouth all over him, wants Mickey’s tongue all over him. Fuck. He wants to kiss him, reach over and taste the frozen sugar, lick it from his mouth and see what it tastes like, just like the last time he —

Ian gasps and Mickey looks up at him with faux innocence. 

“You little shit, you’re getting me back for last time, aren’t you?” Ian accuses, of course referring to Ian’s not so sly flirting the day with the pool. 

Mickey simply smirks and shrugs. “No idea what you’re talking about, Red:” 

Ian leaves Mickey with the rest of his ice pop to go shower. A lot. 

— — 

The following Friday finds them after what feels like a millennia. Ian doesn’t even mind the slow passing of time, because in the absence of a physical relationship, they’re getting to know each other on different, more intimate levels. 

They wake up to a letter from CTS, detailing their return visit with the full backing of the council. Ian expects Mickey to shred the thing, or have Sweetie do it for him, but instead he stares at the half page of text for a few long minutes before shoving it in his bedside table and changing the subject completely. 

And Ian lets him. 

He knows the problem can’t be ignored for long, but Mickey needs to rest and recover, and getting himself into a state like with their last visit isn’t going to help anyone. So Ian lets Mickey distract himself with light conversation about the movie from the night before. 

Before he leaves to open the rescue and walk the pack, Ian gives Mickey a hard, deep kiss, pulling back just to bite the lobe of Mickey’s ear and murmur, “Just a couple more days until your ass is _mine_.”

Mickey whimpers, and Ian feels pleased with himself. 

_That_ should keep him distracted for a while. 

Ian doesn’t want Mickey to get in his head about those CTS creeps, especially with the PTA meeting for the dog therapy at the school tonight. 

— 

“How’s our lord and saviour healing?” Brian asks a few hours later, pushing open the gate to Summer’s kennel to find Ian sitting on the floor with Summer dozing in his lap. 

Ian smirks as he ruffles Summer’s floppy ears. “Should be back to walking on water in no time.”

Brian tosses Ian a box of heartworm tablets. “Good. Doctor Julie is sick of my face, I think. These are for Gallavich.”

Ian scrunches his face in confusion. “Who the fuck is Gallavich?”

Brian beams brightly, folding his arms and leaning against the mesh. “The dog Mickey went to find in that death trap of a house, thus setting off the chain of events that were to be the beginning of your beautiful union.”

It takes a moment to register, but Ian finally catches on. With a glare, he picks up the squeaky ball at his side and launches it at Brian’s head. The impact makes the toy let out a shrill shrieking sound, causing Summer to bolt upright out of Ian’s lap. 

“You’re not even slightly funny,” Ian says as Summer starts jumping up at Brian. 

“It’s a little funny,” Brian replies, pushing Summer down but petting her anyway. “And it was Kenny that came up with it, actually.”

Ian shakes his head and sighs, heaving himself back on to his feet. “Of course it was.”

“Speak of the devil,” Brian says, leaning out of the kennel towards the rushed sound of Kenny’s feet hitting the gravel. “Whoa, where’s the fire, kid?”

Kenny grabs the fence to steady himself as he skids to a stop. “Fuck, guess who I just saw heading up to Mickey’s place?”

Ian and Brian eye each other with confusion before shrugging. Ian hopes to God it isn’t anyone from CTS. 

“Eli!” Kenny hisses. 

“The fuck?” Brian gasps just as Ian says - 

“Wait? Who’s Eli?”

Kenny rolls his eyes. “ _Ex_ Eli. Sandwiches? Diner?” he stresses, hand rolling forward as he urges the memory to the front of Ian’s brain. 

Ian freezes. Feels cold all over like someone’s spirit has just passed through him. 

“Think I’m gonna take my lunch now,” Ian says, pushing past Kenny and heading straight for Mickey’s office. 

“Go Team Gallavich!” Kenny calls from behind him.

-

As Ian takes the stairs up to Mickey’s apartment, a sea of feelings rush over him. It’s almost overwhelming, and Ian feels his heart tighten and drop into his shoes when he thinks about what he could find behind that door. 

Fuck, he shouldn’t have gotten Mickey so horny this morning. 

_Shut the fuck up, moron_ he quickly scolds himself, pissed his anxiety isn’t giving Mickey more credit. 

He stops at the door and holds his breath as he strains to listen to the muffled mumbling from inside. 

On his exhale, Ian slides open the door. 

He’s instantly relieved to find Mickey sitting on the couch as opposed to in bed, but less thrilled about the impeccably dressed _hunk_ sitting on the other end of the couch with both twins at his feet. 

The two men look up as Ian enters, the dogs all trampling over to greet him, and Ian doesn’t miss the brief flash of panic on Mickey’s face. “Ian,” he almost squeaks. 

Eli stands quickly, hand extended with a care-free smile on his perfectly chiselled face. This is _not_ what Ian was expecting. He was expecting some Great British Bake Off twink, all plain Jane and _homely_ looking; not this Abercrombie and Fitch specimen in the Italian leather loafers and sensible shirt that barely contains his biceps. 

Ian takes the offered hand, squeezing back just as hard in his own display of strength. 

Damn, he should have run more. 

“Ian!” Eli enthuses. “The EMT right? Thanks for rescuing this guy,” he laughs, head nodding towards Mickey.

Ian’s whole body bristles with annoyance. How dare Eli sound so genuinely appreciative, like Mickey were _his_ boyfriend and Ian just some first responder, like he wasn’t tangled around Mickey in a deeply satisfying kiss mere seconds before they fell. 

He wants to kick Eli out, wants to demand to know why he’s here or demand to know from Mickey why he hasn’t kicked him out himself. 

“Nice to meet you, and you are?” Ian asks, aiming for nonchalance but probably coming off passive aggressive as hell. 

Eli seems a little put out by the question, but he quickly recovers, raking a hand through his impossibly shiny and fluffy ( _seriously, what the hell does this guy use as conditioner? Sunbeams and clouds?_ ) sandy blonde hair. 

“I’m Eli, a friend of Mickey’s. Heard he’d taken a tumble and came to show some support.”

“Oh, Eli,” Ian hums and nods. “The sandwiches guy?” 

Ian swears he hears Mickey stifle a snort. 

_Fuck_ , he knows he should be more of a grownup about the whole thing. After all, he couldn’t really blame anyone for pining after Mickey. But still… 

Eli’s smile tightens. 

“Anything to help out a good cause. I’d love to contribute more if I could but with three locations, I’m sadly more of a workaholic than Mickey, here.”

It’s a polite enough response with just as much pissyness thrown in as Ian had, and there’s a tense moment where Ian’s anxiety fears his irrational possessiveness will say something more on the nose. 

He doesn’t. He does, however, turn to Mickey, who’s staring at the two men intensely, and quickly lean down to press a soft, wet peck to Mickey’s lips. 

“Just came to ask what you wanted to eat for lunch,” Ian says, voice dripping with innuendo. Mickey gives him a bemused little smirk, but doesn’t respond. 

Eli coughs, looking somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed. “Well. I should get going, lots to do.”

_Yes, fuck off back to your three locations_ Ian thinks as he straightens, giving Eli a sickly sweet smile. 

“It was nice of you to drop by,” Ian concludes, sitting close to Mickey on the couch and dropping a hand to his leg. 

“Thanks, Eli,” Mickey grunts, and Eli gives the pair of them a small half wave and a deep nod before striding to the door and slipping through it. 

Cooper jumps onto the couch and noses at Ian’s arm until he gets an ear scritch, then lowering his head to rest on Ian’s shoulder. Ian smiles. 

“Don’t worry, the bad man is gone now,” Ian stage whispers. 

Mickey huffs and shakes his head with a smirk. “Man, why didn’t you just whip your dick out and pee around the couch?” 

Ian blushes and presses gently into Mickey’s side, laying his head on Mickey’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbles guiltily. 

Mickey wraps an arm around Ian’s shoulders and plants a kiss in the crown of his head. “Nah, don’t be. It’s a good thing you ain’t even seen my ass yet and you’re already protective over it.” 

Ian grins and presses his lips to Mickey’s neck, trying not to think about how Eli’s had what _he_ wants. Eli has seen Mickey bare and spread and — Ian squeezes his eyes shut before the thought can progress, trailing his mouth over Mickey’s jaw instead until it finally reaches Mickey’s lips. 

It’s hard not to pour his insecurities into the kiss, and though he tries his best he suspects that some has seeped through. He doesn’t mind though, not really, not when it’s making Mickey run his fingers through Ian’s hair in a slow and careful kiss. 

They separate from the kiss noisily, and Mickey bumps his forehead softly against Ian’s, which Ian takes as Mickey acknowledging Ian’s unease and confirming there’s nothing to be insecure about. 

“So,” Ian finally whispers, “he didn’t offer to give you a sponge bath then?”

Mickey rolls his eyes and shoves at Ian playfully. “Fuck off. It ain’t like that.”

Ian shrugs. “Thought he was supposed to be bitter about the break up and hopelessly pining after you.”

Mickey grunts, “I’m gonna fucking murder Kenny,” before pushing himself carefully off the couch and walking stiffly towards the kitchen, one hand pressed to his back for support. 

“Where are you going? You’re supposed to be in bed,” Ian says, scrambling up from the couch and following after him. 

Mickey waves a dismissive hand at Ian and pulls open the fridge. “Eating leftover pizza for lunch. You want some?”

“Sure,” Ian nods, and Mickey pulls out the box from last night’s dinner and sets it on the counter. 

Facing away from Ian, Mickey’s shoulders tense. Ian’s about to ask him what’s wrong when Mickey lets out a long, slow breath and then hobbles around to face him. 

“He _was_ bitter about the breakup, but he doesn’t want me, not anymore.”

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up as Mickey’s gaze falls to the floor. “Okay…”

“I caught him talking shit about me to his friends. Like really petty, _nasty_ shit. It made me feel like a pity fuck, and yeah, I didn’t exactly wanna marry the guy but I thought we were at least friends.”

Mickey looks listless, still avoiding Ian’s gaze.

“And the sandwiches?” Ian swallows. He wants Mickey to look up, to look at him so Ian can nonverbally comfort him like Mickey did with Ian mere moments before. 

“Guilt mostly, probably also some sort of fucked up display of wealth. Was just easier to tell the guys some crap about it than tell them the truth,” Mickey explains with a shrug, finally glancing up until his eyes meet Ian’s. “So, there you go. Nothing to worry about. He was literally here for five minutes and talked mostly about himself.” 

Ian lets a few beats of tense silence pass between them before taking the few short steps to Mickey quickly. Mickey sucks in a breath as Ian takes his face in both hands, long fingers wrapping around the back of Mickey’s skull. 

“You are worth a fucking _million_ of that asshole. More than that. A billion. A _million_ billion. Numbers that haven’t even been discovered yet,” Ian urges, staring into Mickey’s big blue eyes in hopes he’s getting the point across enough. 

Mickey chews on his bottom lip and then lets it twitch into a small smirk. He places his hands on Ian’s hips and juts his chin. “Pretty sure all the numbers have been discovered, Gallagher.”

Ian can _feel_ the sadness and embarrassment evaporate from Mickey and it makes him beam with pride. 

“Math was never really my strong point,” Ian shrugs, letting one of his hands fall to Mickey’s waist as the other stays at his head. 

“Good thing you got lots of other strong points,” Mickey murmurs, bumping their noses together, warm breath running over Ian’s lips like an intoxicating invitation. 

Ian doesn’t resist, he doesn’t have the strength to do so, not when Mickey’s warm body is so close, when he’s just been voluntarily vulnerable around Ian _again_. Ian tugs Mickey’s head forward the inch or so that separates them, catching Mickey’s open mouth with his own in a hot and messy kiss. 

The kiss is different to the one on the couch, morphing quickly from comfort to passion, and then just straight up _want want want_. Mickey’s tongue is velvet soft and a pleasing weight as it slides around the kiss like it’s known the corners of Ian’s mouth for years. 

Mickey gasps, pulling at Ian’s hips even though they couldn’t possibly be any closer. 

Without thinking too much about it, Ian quickly lets go of Mickey’s head and tugs at the backs of his thighs, hefting Mickey up onto the counter. 

Mickey gasps again, the noise soon dissolving into a groan as he’s able to wrap his legs around Ian’s waist, achieving the closeness they’re both chasing. 

“Fuck, _Ian_ ,” Mickey moans as he breaks away from Ian’s mouth, only to have Ian’s lips press against his throat. 

Ian kisses and licks at Mickey’s Adam’s apple, hands venturing from Mickey’s thighs to his ass. He digs his fingers into the soft cotton of Mickey’s sweats, grinding Mickey’s body against his own. 

Mickey jerks, his body reacting to the feel of their swelling cocks pressing together, and when he does so his hand shoots out to the side, knocking over a coffee mug and sending it hurtling towards the ground where it shatters loudly. 

Ian jumps back, startled. There’s a half pause of silence, and then the whole room seems to erupt. 

It’s the twins first, and loudest. Raph and Don spring up from the floor with a deep bark and skid into the kitchen towards the fallen cup. The sheer volume and veracity of their barking makes Ian stagger back in fright as Mickey hops down from the counter with a hiss. 

Mickey steps in front of Ian as the twins bark and gnash, mouths snapping like gator jaws as globs of saliva spray forward each time their mouths open. 

“Give them their space,” Mickey instructs calmly, reaching an arm behind himself to push Ian back gently, stepping back with him. 

The twins don’t advance any further, but they don’t quieten any. They snap and snarl like they’re preparing to attack, eyes wide with fear and confusion. It’s a complete 180 from the dogs Ian has come to know and love, and while he knows it’s normal to feel uneasy (and even afraid), he can’t help but feel so damn bad for them. 

From her perch on the back of the couch, Sweetie growls cautiously. Cooper’s head disappears as he lays down on the couch, letting out a worried little whimper. 

“It’s okay guys, you’re okay. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, I promise,” Mickey says gently, taking another step back until they’re slowly backing towards the living area. Mickey snags a handful of treats from the bowl on the counter as they pass it, and when the twins finally notice, their vicious barks turn into rumbling warning growls. 

Mickey crouches slightly and tosses a few treats across the floor towards the crates at the front of the apartment. The twins yip and trundle after them, and just like that it’s over. 

Ian breathes a deep sigh of relief as Mickey tosses a couple treats on the couch for Sweetie and Cooper, and the twins retreat to their crates to decompress. 

“Holy fuck,” Ian whispers, voice slightly shaken with shock. 

“They’re okay,” Mickey tells the room, and as Sweetie and Cooper relax back into the cushions, Ian steps forward and rests his chin on Mickey’s shoulder. 

“Shit, you really weren’t kidding about that whole noise aggression thing,” Ian says, hands light on Mickey’s hips as he feels the tension slowly start to leave Mickey’s shoulders. 

“It’s not their fault,” Mickey replies, still watching the twins intently as they settle in their crates. 

“I know. You were real good with them, though. They’re lucky to have you.” Ian presses a closed mouth kiss to Mickey’s shoulder and steps away. Mickey sighs with relief and turns to follow him.

Back in the kitchen, Ian carefully sweeps up the bits of broken porcelain and dumps them in the trash. 

Whatever was building before has dissipated, though not vanished completely, and now the two men keep catching each other’s glances and smiling coyly at one another. 

Ian checks his watch and with a resigning sigh grabs a cold slice of pizza to go, kisses Mickey quickly, and heads back to work. 

“Back in bed and _rest_ ,” Ian instructs as he pulls open the door. “Can’t have you cranky for school later.”

Mickey flips him off with one hand and shoves pizza into his mouth with the other. 

— — 

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Kenny says as Mickey hobbles down the stairs at Ian’s side. 

Mickey flips him off with a scowl. “Fuck off. I can’t wear jeans yet.” 

Ian gives him a comforting squeeze on the hip. Mickey looks fine to him in his dark grey sweatpants, black T-shirt and unbuttoned grey checkered shirt; more than fine actually. 

Kenny’s just nervous. He’s been chewing Ian’s ear off all week about how important it is this meeting goes well. The kid hasn’t said it out loud yet, but Ian can see how much he cares about getting this little program off the ground. 

“He’s fine,” Ian assures before reaching out to squeeze Kenny’s shoulder and reiterate, “it’s gonna be _fine_ , okay?”

Kenny takes a breath as he studies Ian’s face for a moment. Finally, he nods and turns to head for the car. 

Cooper bumps his head into Ian’s side and Ian gives him a reassuring pet too. It seemed only appropriate that they take the most lovable, non threatening, can’t-say-no-to-that-face dog they’ve got; Cooper in his fucking adorable yellow booties is definitely just that. 

“Don’t know what he’s so bent out of shape about,” Mickey grumbles. “It’s not like he has to talk to a bunch of judgy ass parents.”

Ian guides them all over to Kenny’s beat up Trans Am, clambering into the back with Cooper so Mickey can sit up front. 

“It smells like pennies and toxic masculinity back here,” Ian says and he folds his long limbs into the small backseat of the muscle car. Cooper lays his head in Ian’s lap and settles down. 

“Please show Rita the love and respect she deserves,” Kenny instructs before closing Mickey’s door for him. 

The elementary school isn’t far from the rescue, and by the time they pull into the parking lot Kenny seems to have calmed down some; his bubbly happiness starting to seep back through. 

When they’re all out of the car, Ian hands off Cooper’s leash to Mickey, knowing the two probably need to be close to each other for serenity. Mickey and Cooper both tilt their heads and glance around the school in comical synchronicity. Ian follows closely behind them as they move through the halls and into the gym where there’s already twenty or so people sitting in a scattered semi circle. 

A young woman with a nose ring and a smile as big as Kenny’s rushes over to them, pulling Kenny into a strong embrace. 

“This is Amanda, my sister and Ryker’s mom,” Kenny introduces. “AJ, this is Ian, Mickey and Cooper.”

Mickey’s thankfully too distracted by Amanda’s immediate interest in Cooper to notice how the rest of the room has started shooting them suspicious glances. Ian folds his arms across his chest as a physical block between him and the crowd, willing his anxiety down so that he can be present for Mickey, instead of stuck in his own damn head. 

God, he hopes none of them were watching the 6 o’clock news several years ago. 

A few brave souls venture closer, pulled in by Cooper’s natural tractor beam of adorableness, and crouch to pet him. Ian stands back and watches Mickey explain to the small group of Cooper fans about the booties, and he can’t help but grin at the adoring coos coming from the mothers. 

Mickey can be naturally charming, something Ian definitely knows Mickey isn’t aware of. These moms are just eating Mickey right up like they can sense his almost parental protectiveness over Cooper. It makes Ian feel more at ease; even Mickey looks a lot less tense than before. 

“Alright, ladies and gents, if you’d like to grab a seat so we can begin!” A bright voice announces across the hall as a middle aged, slender, black woman with tight ringlets of curls framing her face strides to the podium. She must be the principal, Ian decides. 

Kenny and his sister lead them over to an empty cluster of chairs off to the side. Cooper plods over to Ian when they all sit, laying between Ian’s feet and rolling onto his side. Ian reaches down to ruffle Cooper’s ears before giving Mickey’s arm a firm, reassuring squeeze. 

The principal shuffles some papers around before addressing the room again. “Good evening, parents and guests. Now, before we tackle our agenda on summer clubs and classes, I’ll yield the floor to Miss Bridges who would like to put forward an interesting program with our local dog rescue.”

Amanda smiles and springs up from her seat, bouncing over to the podium with excitement. Ian can’t help but smile at the family resemblance. He also notices two or three of the moms giving Amanda a distasteful look. Ian recognised that look. That judgy bullshit look he gets on the L sometimes when his meds have him feeling a little spacey. 

“Hi!” She grins, leaning forward on the podium, apparently unaware or even unfazed by the few scrutinous stares. “As most of you know, I’m Ryker’s mom, and if you know Ryker then you know he can be a little awkward sometimes. It’s not always easy for him to express himself or what he’s feeling, and as a parent, that can be hard to watch.”

Amanda pauses to smile over at Kenny. 

“Ryker’s lucky to have an uncle who loves him as much as my baby brother loves him. They have a great bond, so when Kenny suggested getting Ryker a dog from the rescue he’d just started working at, I knew it was a good thing.” 

“Burger, the chubby lab we were introduced to, was an instant hit with Ryker. Burger had a crappy start in life and, having been abandoned before myself, I figured this dog deserved a chance to live a good life.”

“Honestly, it’s been the best decision I’ve ever made as a mother. Being around Burger, Ryker has become more confident, more at ease. He sits and reads to Burger every evening, and this dog just lays his big dumb head on Ryker’s little legs and listens to every word that kid says. It’s...it’s fucking magical,” she laughs, a few more quiet chuckles rippling through the audience. 

“It’s like these dogs just _know_ what these kids need, like they can read them in a way we can’t. The kids seem to get it too. They seem to really get each other. I know there are so many kids like Ryker out there who could use the same help, so my brother put together this amazing idea for a program to help both the kids and the dogs, and his boss, Mickey Milkovich, has very kindly agreed to come talk to us and answer any of our questions.”

When she gestures to Mickey whilst saying his name, all heads swivel towards the three men and dog. 

Mickey hands the leash to Ian and pushes himself onto his feet with a sigh. There’s a few mutters as he walks, and Ian definitely doesn’t miss the whispers of the Milkovich name. 

Amanda gives Mickey a big beaming grin and a reassuring shoulder pat before ducking out of the way. Ian watches Mickey’s face intently, half wishing he would have gone up there with him. 

There’s a few beats of awkward silence before Mickey coughs nervously and thumbs at his nose. 

“‘Ey, how you doin?” 

Ian grins. God, he’s so gone on this guy. 

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Milkovich,” the principal nods. “Can you please explain to us a little about your rescue and what it does?”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

He stops and huffs out a quick breath like he’s getting into character. He introduces himself and gives a small wave that just makes Ian fall harder. 

“I started XK9 about two years ago with the help of some great Illinois charities and the city council. We rescue dogs from all over Chicago, but the majority of the dogs come to us from the Southside. We take in all kinds of dogs, every size, breed, temperament. I specialise in the more difficult cases, but I train my guys to deal with every kind of dog. We’re staffed by volunteers and parolees, who come from the same dog training program I took part in when I was inside.”

The air gets a little thicker. It’s not like illegal activity is anything so foreign or shocking, they’re not _that_ far from the Southside, but there are more than a few parents shifting uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry, but,” a woman starts, raising her hand quickly before flipping back her dark hair. Ian quickly recognises her as one of the women giving Amanda the stink eye. “Do you mean that your rescue is run by... _criminals_?” 

The room is uncomfortably silent for just a moment before Mickey fixes the woman with a hard stare. 

“ _No_. XK9 is run by volunteers and ex convicts who have served their time and are trying to turn their lives around.”

The woman doesn’t look satisfied with Mickey’s response, even giving a little scoff as she turns to mumble something to her friends. 

Ian wishes Sweetie were here. She’d go for the bitch’s ankles on the way to her throat. 

“Sooo,” the mom to the right of the bitch in a too tight sweater drawls. “You want us to let a bunch of convicts around our kids while they read to a pack of dangerous dogs?” 

Ian watches Mickey’s jaw set as he hears Kenny huff from beside him. 

“Fucking bitch,” Amanda mutters. Ian silently agrees. 

Finally, Mickey shrugs. “Listen, Ma’am. If you have a problem being around ex cons then you might as well move because I guarantee in every coffee shop, mall, cinema or yoga studio you step into, you’re within six feet of an ex con.” 

A laugh simmers through the rest of the parents. 

“My guys are all decent, trustworthy people. To work at XK9 as a parolee you have to be a non violent offender with _exemplary_ behaviour and recommendations, not to mention have completed at least six months of prior training with the dog programme we run inside. As for the dogs, I would _never_ allow a known aggressive dog near something like this. Just because they’re rescue dogs doesn’t make them dangerous. Most have been severely let down by humans and still they always manage to trust us again. They have more love and loyalty in them than most of the people I know, and the only thing they’ll do to your kids is make them feel that.” 

Ian holds his breath, waiting for someone to say something else, to throw another attack for his boyfriend to so eloquently (and sexily) rebuttal. 

Nothing comes. 

“Anyway,” Mickey says into the silence, “don’t take my word for it. Hear from one of our own delightful delinquents. Kenny, get on up here and let these good folks know all about you and your great ideas.”

Kenny grins and bounces up from his seat as his sister excitedly leaps to her feet and applauds them. 

— — 

Ian can’t keep his hands off Mickey on the ride home. From the backseat he lets his hands slip around Mickey’s seat to stroke at his sides and shoulders. Mickey lets him, humming contentedly and riding the high of moral victory until Kenny is practically gagging out of the window at them. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Ian leans forward to whisper, mouth as close to Mickey’s ear as he can get. “You were amazing. Fuck, they loved you.”

The rest of the PTA meeting had gone brilliantly. Kenny had entertained the moms with stories of his nephew and their rescue dog, as well as answering questions alongside Mickey about the dogs and the reading program they hoped to put together. In the end, it had been an almost unanimous yes, save for one or two bitchy moms. 

Despite them, the program was approved and Ian had never seen Kenny happier. 

Mickey tucks his smile into a secret smirk as Ian’s voice drops low. God, Ian wants more of Mickey beneath his hands. He wants to drag Mickey into the backseat with him and kiss him and grind against him until it covers the natural smell of the muscle car. 

“Pretty sure they were mostly impressed with Cooper. Ain’t that right, Coop?” Mickey twists to ask the dog, who tilts his head and grizzles in response. Mickey glances back at Ian. “See.” 

Kenny offers to help them up to the office but Mickey declines, insisting he’s fine to do it himself. Kenny looks over to Ian just to confirm, and Ian quickly shakes his head to indicate they’ll be fine. 

After Kenny fist bumps them both and kisses Cooper’s head, he clambers into his car and leaves. 

Cooper rushes up the office stairs ahead of them, then sits by the locked door and barks impatiently at them as Ian stays close behind Mickey. 

“Alright, hold your goddamn horses,” Mickey grumbles as he pulls himself up a step at a time. 

The dog stays ahead of them the whole time until they’re finally at the apartment door. Cooper jumps up to scratch his front booties against the painted metal. Soft little yips sound on the other side, and it makes Ian smile. 

“He really loves his pack, huh?” Ian says, sliding his arm around Mickey’s waist to fish the keys out of his opposite pocket. 

Mickey doesn’t answer, just shushes Cooper softly and pets his head as Ian opens up. 

The pack descends on them quickly, throwing themselves over Cooper first and then Mickey. Ian waits patiently to be greeted, and is even surprised to find Sweetie giving him a little tail wag (though it’s quick and she ignores him immediately after). 

“Man, I’m beat,” Mickey groans, rubbing at his back near his bandages. He turns to wink at Ian. “Wanna come and make sure I swallow my meds, Nurse Gallagher?”

Ian smirks and follows Mickey into the bedroom. Mickey kicks off his shoes by the door and sits on his side of the bed as Ian grabs the painkillers from the nightstand, along with a half full bottle of water. 

Mickey takes the pills and grimaces at the warm bottled water. Ian snorts and leans down to kiss the top of his head. 

“Stop being a bitch and swallow the pills.”

Mickey jabs at the soft flesh on Ian’s tummy. “Used to commanding people to swallow, huh?” 

Ian laughs and steps between Mickey’s parted knees, and when Mickey looks up at him with those bright blue eyes, Ian feels suddenly breathless. He brushes a few wispy strands of Mickey’s dark hair with his fingertips. Mickey lets out a slow breath and blinks softly up at Ian. 

When Ian rubs a thumb across Mickey’s chin, Mickey hooks his top lip over the tip of Ian’s thumb. 

Ian sucks in a breath as his stomach clenches. Mickey smirks. 

“Such a wicked grin on such an innocent face,” Ian murmurs, letting his thumb slip along beneath Mickey’s lip. Mickey sucks more of the digit into his mouth, and Ian feels the warmth of Mickey’s tongue against the pad of his thumb. Ian groans. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Mickey’s hands come up to rest on Ian’s waist. Ian pulls his thumb from between Mickey’s pink lips and rubs the thin slick of saliva over Mickey’s mouth. 

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes, eyes closing as he pushes into the touch. 

Ian can’t help but agree. He wants Mickey so bad, wants to make him feel good, show him how good Ian can make it for him; show him how much he deserves it. He wants to taste all the different parts of Mickey, kiss him and mark him and _claim him_. 

“Mick, I wanna taste you,” Ian says, and Mickey’s eyes snap open with a gasp. His erection is already obvious in his sweats and Ian can feel his own cock start throbbing against his jeans. 

“Wow,” Mickey croaks, voice breaking under the weight of his want. “That _must_ have been one hell of a speech to make Nurse Gallagher disregard doctors orders.”

Ian bites his lip and tries not to blush. He knows ten days isn’t really that long and they’re only a few days away from it, but, _fuck_. Between Eli and the PTA, constant making out and intense fucking sponge baths, Ian knows Mickey’s want is just as prevalent as his own. He can read it clearly in Mickey’s eyes. 

“Can I?” Ian asks softly, and before the last syllable has completely left his mouth Mickey tugs Ian down forcefully by his hand, pulling their faces together. 

“Fuck, please do,” he pants, and then Ian crushes their mouths together whilst falling to his knees. 

Mickey makes a desperate noise into the kiss as his mouth follows Ian’s. Mickey’s thighs lock around Ian’s hips and Ian lets his hand fall on the bulge in Mickey’s sweats. 

“You sure?” Ian pulls back to ask and Mickey quickly grunts in frustration, latching his teeth to Ian’s throat and scraping softly against the sensitive flesh. Ian curses, because, _fuck_ , nothing’s ever felt so good, Mickey’s mouth on his throat and hard covered cock beneath his hand. 

“I feel sure?” Mickey mumbles, pressing up into Ian’s hand. 

Ian groans. That’s all the confirmation he needs. He tucks his fingers beneath the band of Mickey’s sweats and pulls them down, leaving Mickey in his black T-shirt and well fitting grey boxer briefs. There’s already a dark wet spot where a bead or two of precome has soaked through, and Ian hones in on it like a target, dipping his head and rubbing the flat of his tongue against the salty stained cotton. 

“Fuck— _Ian_ ,” Mickey utters, breath stuttering out as his fingers curl in Ian’s hair. The little zings on Ian’s scalp as Mickey tugs gives the most pleasant sting, and Ian wraps his lips around the cloth covered head of Mickey’s erection and sucks wetly. 

Mickey chokes and sways backward, planting his hands either side on the mattress to catch himself. Ian misses the touch immediately, but he knows he probably shouldn’t draw this out. Not too much. 

With that in mind he swiftly pulls Mickey’s cock free of his boxers, and hums, pleased, when he finally gets the weight of it in his hand. It’s a good dick, as dicks go. Pale and pink and thick enough to fill Ian’s hand. Mickey groans and cants his hips.

When Ian looks up he finds Mickey staring down at him, looking like the very definition of sex. Pink parted lips and blown hazy eyes, searching Ian’s face with such awe and wonder. Ian stretches up and kisses Mickey messily, lots of tongue and broken gasps, one hand still grasping Mickey’s cock. Then he pulls back quickly and ducks to swallow Mickey down half whole. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mickey whines, his hand finding its way to Ian’s head again. 

Ian’s rhythm is steady but relentless, between his long fingers and skilled tongue, he knows he can pull Mickey apart quickly if he needs to. He’s already learned so much about Mickey’s body in the days he’s been dying to get closer to it. From watching Mickey work back before everything happened, to their heated make out session just hours before, Ian feels like he could already navigate Mickey’s body and where it likes to be touched most. 

Ian moves his hands to the outsides of Mickey’s thighs, clutching at the thick muscle as he pulls Mickey’s body up to meet his mouth. He takes a deep breath through his nose and then swallows Mickey down all the way until he’s filling Ian’s throat. 

Mickey whimpers and then babbles Ian’s name uselessly, thrusting up shallowly into Ian’s waiting mouth. 

“I’m gonna come,” Mickey warns in a breathless whisper, one hand moving to Ian’s jaw. 

Ian pulls back slightly but doesn’t pull off, instead tightens the pressure of his lips to coax Mickey’s orgasm from him, swallowing it down completely when it finally does come in three bitter and delicious spurts. Mickey shakes apart beneath Ian’s mouth and hands and it feels fucking fantastic. 

“Fuck,” Ian gasps when he pulls off, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Mickey’s head is hanging back between his shoulders as he sucks in a few deep breaths. 

“Holy fuck,” Mickey croaks, looking back at Ian and smiling lazily. 

Ian leans back on his folded legs and yanks his jeans open, unable to take the throbbing ache any longer. When he pulls his dick free, Mickey whines. 

“Fuck, oh my god. Get up here,” Mickey pleads, grabbing at Ian’s shoulders and pulling him up to the bed. 

Ian goes willingly, letting Mickey push him onto his back. Mickey wraps his fingers around Ian’s cock and squeezes firmly, the pressure almost burning as Ian gasps. 

“Shit, fuck—Mick, you don’t have to, I can,” Ian tries, but Mickey cuts him off by squeezing a little too hard. 

“Shut the fuck up, Captain America, and let me jerk you off,” Mickey demands with a teasing smirk. 

His hand on Ian’s cock is firm, solid pressure that prickles at Ian’s skin in the most intoxicating way. 

“Well, if it’s for the good of the country,” Ian drawls, laughing when Mickey rolls his eyes. 

“Dork,” Mickey laughs, leaning closer to press his lips to Ian’s neck. 

Ian tries to last past what could be considered embarrassing, but fuck, he’s so keyed up from being all up in the scent of Mickey’s sex that it only takes a dozen or so tight, twisting pulls and Mickey’s panting breath against his ear before he’s coming. 

Mickey strokes him through it, giggling as jets of come splatter up Ian’s t-shirt. Then he collapses forward, half sprawled over Ian’s side, forehead tucked beneath his chin. 

“Well, fuck,” Mickey breathes. Ian wraps his arm around Mickey’s shoulders and laughs. 

“Don’t tell Doctor Jackson.”

Mickey scoffs. “Like she wouldn’t do the same.” 

Ian sighs, relaxed, and kisses the top of Mickey’s head. “I probably should still take a look at it, though.” 

Mickey makes a noise of disinterest. 

“Bring me a snack and I’ll think about it,” he says after a moment. 

“Jesus, let a guy put his dick away before you start ordering him back into the kitchen,” Ian mutters playfully, rolling out from under Mickey before Mickey can start jabbing at his sides. 

“Maybe you don’t need to put it away,” Mickey smirks, resting his head in his hand. 

Ian fastens his jeans and whips off his T-shirt. “Your four-legged kids have enough issues. Don’t think I should really feed ‘em with my dick out.” 

Mickey groans with feigned exasperation. “Well, I suppose I could survive getting changed and helping.”

Ian grins, the endorphins from his orgasm still buzzing away happily beneath his skin, making him feel floaty and a little clingy. He climbs back on the bed from the opposite side until he’s towering over Mickey. 

“Such a selfless soul,” Ian says as he strokes a thumb down Mickey’s cheek before pulling Mickey in to an awkward, but giddy sort of upside down kiss. 

When he pulls back from Mickey’s lips to find Mickey’s eyes open and clear and the deepest of blues, Ian already knows he’s completely and undeniably in love with Mickey Milkovich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I always get there in the end 😊 
> 
> I’m still hammering out the details of the ending so I’m not sure if there’ll be 12 or 13 chapters in total, but we will start drawing to a close soon 🐾


	11. Yorkshire Terrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey’s recovery is coming along nicely. CTS are up to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m aliiiiiiive!!
> 
> Better late than never, right?
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me ❤️

Ian loves to run with the pack. They’re all pretty speedy, even Sweetie; who gallops in front of them all with a stern look in her eye like she’s on a secret mission. She’s the unofficial leader, Mickey’s right-hand confidante. Sometimes, as they’re running together through the quiet morning streets of Chicago, he imagines what the dogs would look like as humans, just to keep his mind busy. 

It’s fun to come up with various scenarios of mob boss Mickey and his gang of henchmen/women, Sweetie small but terrifying (probably a lot like Mandy), Cooper the giant teddy of a man, and the twins as psychotic as Carl when he was ten. 

By the time they’re back at the rescue, sunrise is only minutes away and though Ian would love to stay and watch, perhaps snap a photo or two, there’s something upstairs still sleeping in the apartment that he wants more. 

Ian showers quickly as the dogs eat their breakfast and then collapse into the first nap of the day. He towels off his skin and hair before slipping on a pair of clean boxers from his side of the underwear drawer, purposely _not_ thinking about how wonderful the domesticity of it all feels, or how this new routine of his is temporary. 

Sliding under the covers, Ian drapes himself over Mickey’s back, pressing into his sleep warm skin and nuzzling against the short hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck. 

He knows Mickey’s awake. He could tell as soon as he stepped into the room by just the shape of the body beneath the covers, though Mickey’s not showing any acknowledgement to Ian’s presence. 

“Hey, faker,” Ian murmurs into Mickey’s ear. 

Mickey’s cheek plumps as he grins and Ian leans over to kiss it. Mickey hums sleepily. “I was hoping you’d come back to bed.”

Ian’s hand skirts up Mickey’s bare side and round to his stomach, feeling the muscles clench beneath his feather-light touch. Mickey reaches back and cards his fingers through Ian’s damp hair as he starts to rock back slowly against Ian’s body. 

“Oh, yeah?” Ian smirks, hand moving lower to palm at Mickey’s morning wood through his underwear, making Mickey groan softly. “Why’s that then?”

The hard-line of Ian’s covered erection rubs perfectly against the small of Mickey’s back and Ian rocks gently into it, mindful to keep clear of the now small amount of dressing over Mickey’s healing wound. 

Mickey’s appointment with the doctor is later today, and Ian knows it’s going to be good news. The wound has been healing perfectly, even with Mickey being handsy as hell over the last two days since the PTA meeting. 

They’ve jerked each other off a couple of times, mostly in bed or the bathroom as they’re the only places they don’t have an audience, and Ian had blown Mickey again just the night before as Ian attempted to help him wash. That was Mickey’s fault, though. Mickey wouldn’t keep his hands or his mouth to himself, and eventually, the only way to still him was for Ian to whip the towel away and take Mickey’s cock down whole between hungry lips. 

Mickey moans and reaches back, grasping at Ian through his boxers. “Coz I’m one step closer to finally having this in my ass.”

Ian laughs and kisses over Mickey’s shoulder, just two or three little pecks that quickly turn into sucking bites as Ian’s mouth makes its way towards Mickey’s throat. 

“Or we, we… _fuck_ ,” Mickey chokes out when Ian’s teeth graze along the sensitive skin beneath Mickey’s ear. “We could just say _fuck it_ and spend all day in bed.”

“Uh-huh,” Ian hums, nose behind Mickey’s ear. “Or we could wait until a medical professional looks you over.”

Mickey grunts and grabs Ian’s hand that’s resting against Mickey’s stomach, guiding it back to his cock. “You’re a medical professional. You can look me over.” 

Ian bites on a smirk and cups Mickey through his boxers. “I’m a convicted arsonist with really detailed first aid training. You really wanna take that risk?”

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” Mickey groans, hips rolling back against Ian’s erection and forward against his hand. 

Ian slips his hand beneath the waistband of Mickey’s boxers and takes his hot hard cock in a firm grip. Mickey whines and bucks into Ian’s fist, silently pleading for more. 

Ian nibbles on Mickey’s earlobe, eager to make him produce more of those beautiful noises that go straight to Ian’s dick. 

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Ian murmurs hotly, hand moving torturously slow over Mickey. Mickey groans and nods in agreement as the words continue to tumble from Ian’s lips. “I’m gonna open you up with my fingers, my mouth, and then work my cock into your tight hole and fuck you until you’re begging me to let you come.”

Mickey gasps, open-mouthed and heady, twisting so he can catch Ian’s mouth in a biting kiss. “Yeah, _fuck_. Ian, please.”

“I will,” Ian promises, hand speeding up over Mickey’s dick. “But not yet.”

Mickey groans and lets his eyes snap open so he can glare non threateningly up at Ian. “Fuck you.”

Ian laughs in a warm puff of breath, not letting anything falter his rhythm. “Not yet. But I will make you come.”

Mickey’s eyes roll closed, hand reaching back to Ian’s hair again as Ian buries his face in Mickey’s neck. 

“Wanna feel you come,” Mickey whispers with pleading breath. 

Ian grunts and bucks against the arch of Mickey’s back. “Soon.”

“Fuck, Ian. Fuck my thighs,” Mickey gasps, and Ian realises it’s _not_ a request when Mickey pulls out of reach to rummage in the drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out the lube and passes it back to Ian, throwing a ferocious look of pure want over his shoulder that makes Ian impossibly hard.

“Yeah, Mick. Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

Ian makes quick work of the lube, even with his fumbling fingers. There’s still adrenaline from his run coursing through his muscles, and he wants so badly to be pressed close to Mickey, to hold Mickey as he comes undone. 

He slicks up his cock and guides it into the small gap Mickey creates between his thighs, letting his leg relax once Ian’s settled. They both moan and curse, and Ian knows he’s got to get a move on because he feels so surrounded by Mickey that he knows he won’t last long. 

“C’mon, Gallagher,” Mickey prompts, and Ian grins before wrapping his now lubed hand around Mickey’s cock, immediately setting off a punishing pace of quick strokes and strong, steady thrusts. 

“Yeah?” Ian teases, but Mickey’s too gone to reply, head tipped back on Ian’s shoulder and shiny lips parted in a silent moan. 

“Holy fuck, _Ian_. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mickey babbles uselessly.

It’s getting to Ian how ready Mickey is to hand himself over completely, just lie there and let Ian please him, get off with him. Everything feels hot and intense and his muscles are burning from chasing their orgasms. 

Mickey tightens his thighs over and over, pulsing the thick muscles around Ian’s cock as he drives forward. Ian chokes and almost comes right then and there. 

When Ian puts his mouth back on Mickey’s neck, Mickey clutches Ian’s hair again and groans. 

“Wanna feel you come, want it over my skin,” he murmurs, and Ian’s body responds immediately, coming with force as his orgasm splashes between Mickey’s thighs. 

Mickey moans, quickly wrapping his hand over Ian’s on Mickey’s cock, helping Ian bring him to his own release. 

“Jesus, Mick, you feel so fucking good,” Ian tells him, and it’s just a few tight strokes later that the praise has Mickey gasping and coming over Ian’s hand. 

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes, pressing the side of his sweaty face into his pillow. “That was good.” 

Ian hums in agreement and kisses Mickey’s shoulder before carefully extracting himself from their embrace. He rolls onto his back and Mickey moves gingerly to lay across Ian’s chest. 

“We should clean up, check your bandage,” Ian says softly, but Mickey waves a dismissive hand, refusing to open his eyes. 

“Nap first.”

“You’re getting me full of jizz,” Ian complains, but still wraps both arms around Mickey.

“Pretty sure that’s partly your fault,” Mickey yawns, raising his hand to smear a glob of whoever’s come on Ian’s shoulder. 

“Dick,” Ian grunts. 

Mickey snickers and yawns again. 

— — 

“It’s my favourite daredevil double act!” Doctor Jackson exclaims as she picks up Mickey’s chart from outside the exam room. “Did you know I was on clinic duty today and came just to cheer me up?” 

“Arranged the whole thing just for you,” Mickey deadpans, waiting a moment before shooting Ian a wink. 

From his perch against the counter, Ian folds his arms and smirks, refusing to acknowledge the titter of butterflies in his stomach that makes him want to spell out _IAN HEARTS MICKEY_ in tongue depressors across the countertop. 

Doctor Jackson flips through the chart again before glancing up at Ian. 

“So, on a scale of one to never getting anything but coal at Christmas ever again, how good has he been?”

Ian ponders for a long moment, humming in thought and tapping his chin dramatically until Mickey scoffs. 

“He’s been good,” Ian finally says. “Definitely getting a fully stuffed stocking this year.”

Doctor Jackson snorts in amusement as Mickey’s eyes briefly fill with a wanting fire. If Ian makes it to the parking lot without tripping and landing dick first in his boyfriend it’s going to be a miracle, and by the look on Mickey’s face, the feeling is very mutual. 

“Good to hear, good to hear,” the doctor mumbles as she waves Mickey up on to the exam table. He has to do a little hop to get up there and it makes Ian grin. Mickey flips him off, but it somehow just makes him look even more adorable. 

Mickey lies on his side facing away from them as Doctor Jackson rolls up a stool and asks Mickey to lift his shirt a little. She peels back the dressing carefully, complimenting Ian on the precision and neatness of the bandages. It gives Ian a little flicker of pride. 

It’s mostly quiet while she inspects the almost completely healed wound. She lays Mickey on his front and places a few careful prods with her gloved fingers, tracing various nerves and watching Mickey’s muscles react. 

“Well, Mickey, I don’t know if it’s my amazing surgical skills or your sheer stubbornness, but you’re healing extremely well.”

Doctor Jackson rolls back her seat as Mickey shifts onto his elbows and pulls himself up again. “Probably a mix of both.”

“Guess having your own candy striper helps too,” she smiles, head tilting towards Ian. 

“I guess,” Mickey shrugs before shooting Ian a shit-eating grin. 

“So, he’s - uh, all fixed up and good to go, then?” Ian asks, trying not to let the real question bleed through. 

The doctor marks a few things down and nods without taking her eyes from the chart. “Yup, pretty much. I mean, I wouldn’t go bungee jumping anytime soon.”

Ian laughs nervously. “Yeah, definitely no bungee jumping.”

Doctor Jackson looks up at him with a smirk. “And whatever your preferences are, I’d probably let him be on top for a while.” 

— —

Ian’s still fighting the hot blush in his cheeks when they get into the van. Mickey’s been laughing at him the whole time, even as they stood in line for Mickey’s prescription refill. Ian doesn’t mind, not really. He doesn’t mind a little embarrassment if it makes Mickey smile like that. 

Before Ian can clip in his seatbelt, his mouth comes under attack from Mickey’s hungry lips. Ian doesn’t resist, and the way Mickey scrapes his fingertips down the back of Ian’s skull makes him shiver. 

Mickey never fails to ignite the sparks that are an almost constant between them, and when he fumbles for the lever to slide Ian’s seat back so he can clamber into his lap, Ian feels like the whole damn car is on fire. 

They’ve made out so many times before over the last two weeks that sometimes it’s the only thing Ian can taste, but now kissing has something else behind it, something that tastes like burnt sugar and pure _want_. 

Mickey’s tongue is way more skilled than it has any right to be. Ian always thought of himself as a good kisser, but _fuck_ , Mickey’s mouth is nothing less than the Fourth of July. 

Ian slides his hands into Mickey’s back pockets and kneads the perfect flesh, pulling them closer together until they’re groaning. 

When Ian tears his mouth away with a gasp, Mickey’s still hungry lips fall quickly to Ian’s neck. 

“Shit, _Mickey_ ,” Ian groans with the faintest hint of warning. 

Mickey responds by rolling his hips down, grinding their growing erections together. 

“What? You heard the lady,” Mickey murmurs, pulling away just enough so that Ian can see his smirk. “I’m on top.”

Ian lets his head fall back with a moan. “Fuck, we probably shouldn’t do this here.”

“Says who?” Mickey asks, sucking softly at Ian’s jawline. 

“Well, my probation officer for one.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“I’d rather fuck my boss or my boyfriend. Lucky for me they’re the same guy,” Ian says, making Mickey pull back with a wicked grin. 

He’s probably about to reply something smart when Ian feels something vibrate beneath his hand that’s still jammed in Mickey’s back pocket. 

“Leave it,” Mickey grunts, dipping back down to press hot open-mouthed kisses against Ian’s neck. 

Ian tugs the phone free. 

“It’s Earl. You should probably get it,” Ian says, though he’d much rather go back to his fake resistance of Mickey’s advances. 

Mickey huffs and pulls back, snatching the phone from Ian’s fingers. 

“You are such a goody goody,” he taunts before answering with an annoyed, “What?”

— — 

Ian’s never seen the part of the rescue that houses the Work In Progress dogs. Mickey’s very selective about who gets to be in that part and when, and he even has the security cameras on a whole separate security system that runs through his phone. Ian knows he’s been checking it constantly since he got out of the hospital, but he never says anything. Those dogs are Mickey’s life. 

Ian remembers how speechless Kenny was the day Mickey casually told him to stop by The Home (the unofficial name of the WIP dog housing), so he knows it’s kind of a big deal when Mickey asks him to come along this time. 

The Home is behind the rec yard, and the walk over there makes Ian realise just how big the property is. It’s no wonder CTS are so desperate to get Mickey kicked out of there, probably seeing such space being used for charity as a waste of potential profit. The thought alone makes Ian agitated and annoyed, but he pushes the feelings down and follows Mickey through a keypad locked door. 

“It’s five-five-four-three, the code,” Mickey says after punching in the numbers. 

Ian nods and the door buzzes loudly before Mickey heaves it open. The door closes with a heavy clang behind them, reminding Ian of the cell doors in prison. 

That’s the last thing to remind Ian of prison as he stands at the end of the clear, bright corridor of kennels. These kennels are different from the ones in the warehouse. For one, there’s no metal in sight. Instead, the kennels are all white tile with a concrete floor and a plexiglass door with a small lock in the corner. Ian can only see the first few kennels from where he stands gawping like a fish. The kennels he can see have either one or two dogs inside, lazing over comfy plush beds either snoozing or just glancing around the place. 

When Ian turns to Mickey, he finds his boyfriend smirking knowingly. Ian doesn’t have to say how impressed he is or how gorgeous the place is. 

“It’s...so quiet,” Ian decides to say, noticing the distinct lack of bat-shit-crazy barking he’s become used to in the warehouse. “Why is it so quiet?”

Mickey simply shrugs. “There aren’t as many dogs in here, I only have five WIP dogs housed right now.” Ian glances down the row of kennels and frowns seeing that there are more than five dogs in here. “There are only five WIP dogs, the rest are therapy dogs. Well, unofficial. They’re chill dogs that have a calming effect on other dogs. They’re not fazed by anything, just completely laid back. It helps keep the atmosphere calm for the others.”

“And the WIP dogs are okay with them? Like, they’re not gonna fight?”

“Only a couple of dogs in here are ex-fighters, the majority of fighting dogs we rescue are in the warehouse. Every dog gets the same temperament test, just because they were forced to be violent doesn’t mean it’s always in their nature. Some of the toughest dogs I’ve worked with have been the result of abuse or a neurological condition.”

Mickey looks so damn _sure_ as he explains this to Ian, and Ian suddenly gets why Mickey was so calm and not at all threatened by Ian’s mental health shit. He also gets why Mickey gravitates towards the damaged ones, and why they gravitate to him in return. They’re the same. 

Ian smiles at Mickey for a moment before his attention gets caught by the quiet chattering of the large TV bolted high in the corner playing an early season of Friends. 

“They big Jennifer Aniston fans?” Ian asks, nodding to the TV. 

Mickey glances up and chuckles. “We have loads of stuff playing on loop for them. It gets them used to all sorts of noises they’ll hear in a home setting. Sometimes we play them music or a soundtrack of general house noises or street noises.”

“To desensitise them to it?”

Mickey nods, “Exactly,” and continues down the row. 

As Mickey stops to greet each dog, WIP and therapy alike, Ian keeps a few steps back. The amount of time and dedication Mickey has put into these dogs is more obvious than ever as each dog snorts, huffs and hammers its tail, some practically vibrating with happiness that Mickey is back. Mickey’s smile is so big it crinkles his eyes, and Ian can practically feel the frustration of the last ten days melting out of him. 

In the last kennel is a scruffy looking sausage dog who pads softly over to the door and looks up at them with bright eyes and a long droopy tongue. 

Mickey giggles (fucking _giggles_ ) and pulls a key off the wall before unlocking the door and sweeping the small dog in his arms. As soon as the dog is face height, it attacks Mickey’s face with so many kisses Ian starts to get a little jealous. 

“Should I leave you two alone?” Ian laughs, tempted to take out his phone and snap a picture that will probably get him a swift kick in the ass. 

Mickey pulls the dog further away, tucking it to his chest as it tilts its head to kiss underneath Mickey’s chin. 

“This is Lucy,” Mickey introduces, holding the dog up to Ian’s face so she can give him a greeting lick. Ian grimaces but laughs, wiping at his cheek. “She was the first therapy dog here. The whole programme is built around her.”

“And she’s fine around huge aggressive dogs?” Ian asks sceptically. 

Mickey tucks Lucy beneath his arm. “Hey, this little thing is one tough little fucker, let me tell you,” he says as he leads them towards the second door, this one not as heavy as the first, swinging open easily to reveal what at first glance looks like a children’s playground, but closer inspection reveals that along with toys and agility frames, are chairs and couches and a bunch of random cardboard cutouts of TV’s, beds, kids, cats, and a whole lot of other household objects. It’s like a complete house but jumbled up in one large room. 

Earl and Ernez are at the far end of the room with a skinny looking mastiff. It’s leashed and muzzled while Ernez runs a vacuum back and forth just a few feet away. The dog watches curiously but does not move away from the noise. 

Mickey waves to the two men as they walk through, towards yet another door.

“I’ll catch up with you guys in twenty, gonna go see Titan.”

Earl nods and holds up a hand to show he’s heard before turning his attention back to the dog, whose tail has started wagging since spotting Mickey. 

Ian gives them a wave also and follows Mickey and Lucy through another two doors until the faint sound of classical piano starts to seep from behind a thin blue door. There’s a checklist on the door, and as they get closer, Ian can see items clearer. 

**Titan’s Checklist**   
Walks:  
Meals:  
Med Dose:   
Music (hrs):  
Soft Toys Given:  
Soft Toys Destroyed:   
Treats Accepted:  
Lucy Visits (mins):   
TV Time: 

Mickey studies the chart and lifts the top page to see the previous week's notes, and Ian has to hold back a laugh when Lucy appears to be studying the information with the same degree of interest. 

“Hey, there’s only been five destroyed toys in the last ten days,” Mickey says with delighted surprise, and Ian doesn’t know if it’s him or Lucy he’s talking to. 

Ian peers over Mickey’s shoulder to see the crosses against each activity. “Look at that, we have the same recovery plan,” Ian jokes lamely, still oddly proud of the way Mickey snorts. 

“So, when we get in there,” Mickey starts, expression suddenly dead serious, “you can look towards him but don’t look him directly in the eye for more than a second or so. No sudden movements or loud noises, keep your limbs loose and relaxed, and if I tell you to leave then you leave, no questions asked.”

Ian’s surprised by the instructions, as this is the first time _Mickey’s_ ever acted like a dog is dangerous, and now he feels kinda nervous, like the first time he saw Rocco. God, it feels like so long ago. He feels like asking if he’s sure Ian should be here, but he stays quiet. He trusts Mickey’s judgement, just as Lucy appears to. 

Titan’s kennel is a similar set up to the others in The Home, but about three times the size with a large plexiglass door. There’s a small collection of the same cardboard house items adorning the main rec room, and a grey dog house towards the back of the enclosure. 

When the door closes behind them, Mickey sets Lucy gently on the ground before tucking his thumb and first finger between his lips to produce a sharp whistle. 

From the depths of the dog house, a large slab of grey fur covered muscle slinks out into the light like the moon from the night, and Ian would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little unnerved. 

Titan looks like the poster dog for the dangerous dog stereotype, from his docked tail to his clipped, pointed ears. He’s muscle on muscle, black and pink gums on show as he pants softly. He doesn’t look afraid of anything. 

“Wow,” Ian breathes, careful not to let his eyes lock with the dog in front of him. Even if there is a locked door between them, Titan looks like he could break it down in moments. 

There are small circular holes through the middle of the plexiglass door, and as Mickey steps up to them, the dog pads closer. 

“Hey, big man,” Mickey greets, shoving a hand in his pocket to pull out a fist full of treats. 

The huge dog eyes them and swallows, glancing from Mickey to Lucy to Ian and then back to Mickey again. He sits. 

“Good boy,” Mickey praises, popping a few treats through one of the holes for Titan to gobble up. He drops a few for Lucy too, who so far seems unfazed by the giant before her. 

Lucy shakes her body, head first so her ears flop comically. Titan huffs and grizzles playfully, lowering his nose to Lucy’s height so he can sniff at her through the door. Both dogs start to wag their tails and Mickey leans down to pet Lucy’s head before he takes a few steps back. 

Not knowing what else to do with his limbs, Ian folds his arms and leans back against the wall, watching the dogs study each other. 

“Lucy’s the first dog he hasn’t shown any aggression towards,” Mickey says gently as he comes to rest just inches from Ian. 

“I don’t blame him, she’s pretty non-threatening.”

Mickey snorts. “Yeah, don’t say that until you’ve seen her pissed off. You think Titan looks scary? It’s _nothing_ compared to the little ones.”

“Guess that explains Sweetie,” Ian shrugs. “Though the ears on this guy look kinda demonic.”

“It’s a big part of it, why people clip their ears. That and fighting, same with the tail.”

Ian shifts uncomfortably, still watching as Lucy rolls onto her back and paws at the air playfully. 

“Is that what happened to him? Dogfighting?”

“Titan’s an ex-gang dog,” Mickey explains, arms folding to mirror Ian. “He was used for protection mostly, trained to be aggressive to everything that isn’t his master.”

“How’d he get here?” 

“Cops raided a gang pad. Luckily they were surprised so Titan was locked in a kennel in the backyard, otherwise, he’d be dead for sure. A bullet would have been the only way to stop an attack without his master’s command.”

Ian swallows. “Fuck. Who does he answer to now? Are you his master?”

Mickey pushes away from the wall, “He’s his own master,” he says, approaching the kennel door to slip another few treats through the holes. “It’s taken months to get him to this point. At first, he couldn’t be around anyone or anything without going into attack mode. There’s still a lot of work to be done, months, maybe even years. He’s got to learn to trust again, go against all of his instincts and relearn everything he should have learned as a pup.”

Ian frowns. “It’s so unfair.”

Mickey nods slow. “Yeah, and he’s one of the lucky ones. We only have the facility for one or two dogs with his level of special training requirements. Without this place, no one would see that these guys are just as much victims as anyone fucked over by criminals.” 

They don’t say anything else at that moment, or the ones that follow, instead choosing to remain quiet and let Lucy do her job. 

— — 

Though Mickey’s been given his medical all-clear from the doctor, he’s still under strict instruction to not overdo it. 

And of course, he overdoes it. 

“I don’t understand how you kept sneaking off so quick,” Ian says as he helps a tired, achy Mickey up the stairs to the apartment. In an attempt to keep Mickey insight, Ian had the clever idea to have Mickey work alongside him for the day, helping out with the med rounds and checks. 

It had worked for about an hour before Mickey somehow managed to sneak away to help move around some of the therapy dogs in The Home. 

“I’m surprisingly light on my feet,” Mickey smirks, almost tripping on the next step. 

“Yeah, well, if that were true we wouldn’t have fallen through a floor,” Ian shoots back as he heaves Mickey up the top step with more effort than necessary. 

“Fuck off, that was all you, Gigantor.”

Ian guffaws. “Shut up before I leave you in a corner, Raggedy Anne.”

Brian’s walking the dogs for them this evening, which means Ian can help Mickey straight into the bathroom without getting hounded by hounds. 

“Man, I’m finally able to take a real shower and I’m beat,” Mickey whines, leaning back against the sink and scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Ian sticks his arm around the curtain and flips on the shower. Mickey lowers his hand and crooks a brow. 

Ian smirks. “I’ve been hauling your ass around for ten days, pretty sure I can hold you up in the shower for ten minutes.”

“You just wanna see me naked,” Mickey grins, pulling at the hem of his tank. 

“I’ve seen you naked pretty much every day for the last ten days,” Ian says as he checks the water temperature and begins to pull off his clothes. 

Mickey shucks out of his pants and underwear carefully. “Dunno who sounds like the bigger perv there.”

Ian whips the curtain back and pulls Mickey into the shower. “Oh, it’s me.”

Mickey sighs happily against the warm water, pressing against Ian’s chest with lazy contentment. Ian rubs his hands gently over Mickey’s shoulder and back, fingertips trickling lightly over the water speckled skin. 

It’s nice, just to be close like this. Just skin on skin as they support each other against the spray of the water. Ian feels like his body moulds around Mickey’s automatically, like two lost pieces slotting back together. 

When Ian reaches for the soap and starts rubbing it over Mickey’s lower back, Mickey purrs and presses closer still. 

“Thank you,” Mickey says, so soft that Ian almost doesn’t hear him over the spray of the water.

Ian drops a kiss to Mickey’s shoulder. “For what?”

Mickey looks up through wet lashes, eyes searching Ian’s face for something. “Everything, I guess. For sticking around and not letting me mess this up.”

Ian doesn’t know if he means the recovery from his injury or _them_ , but he suspects maybe both. He smiles and rubs the soap gently over Mickey’s chest. 

“Sorry you had to share your bed with a ginger giant for two weeks,” Ian ventures carefully. 

They haven’t talked about it, what happens now, after the all-clear from the doc (other than finally getting to bang, that is). Ian’s been purposely avoiding the topic, choosing instead to spend the last ten days in blissful ignorance. 

Mickey shrugs tiredly. “It hasn’t been so bad.”

Ian washes them both down quickly before pulling Mickey out of the shower and wrapping a clean towel around his shoulders. He rubs at Mickey’s biceps through the towel and finds when he looks up that Mickey is silently studying him. 

“Bet you’re looking forward to having your bed back to yourself,” Ian says, pulling his eyes from Mickey’s face as he pats the towel down his arms. 

“Ian,” Mickey says, stopping Ian’s hand with his own and forcing their gaze back to each other. Ian swallows. “Do you _want_ to leave?”

Ian swallows again, nervous like this is a test or a trick question. He doesn’t think it is. Mickey doesn’t sound sceptical, just honest. 

“No, not really,” he answers, honestly. “Do you want me to leave?” 

Mickey smiles softly and shakes his head. “Nah.” He takes a step forward to peck Ian’s lips. “Not just yet. Still gotta make sure I don’t go bungee jumping for a while. Not tonight, anyway.”

Ian cups Mickey’s head in both hands and kisses him slowly and delicately. 

“I like sleeping with you,” he murmurs and Mickey smiles as their mouths are drawn together again. 

Ian dries them both off and then takes his tired boyfriend to bed, to sleep. 

— — 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here today?” Ian asks for the fifth time that morning. 

It’s Saturday, meaning Ian has therapy and is meeting with his probation officer _and_ has to pick up Franny from playgroup. It just also happens to be the day CTS has chosen for their pointless visit, a day Ian’s been dreading and Mickey’s been unnervingly calm about considering his last reaction to their presence. 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“It’s fine if you need me to stay.”

“I don’t.”

“I can just cancel—”

“No, you can’t.”

“But I mean I could always—”

“ _Ian_!” Mickey urges, and Ian’s mouth snaps shut as he freezes, toast halfway to his mouth, hanging loosely from his fingers. 

After a pause, Ian holds out the piece of toast in apology. 

With a fond smile and eye roll, Mickey tugs the toast from Ian’s grasp and takes a big bite. 

“Sorry,” Ian says quietly. “I just don’t wanna see you like that again.”

Mickey chews thoughtfully and Ian wonders for an uncomfortable moment if he’s said the wrong thing. Finally, Mickey swallows. 

“I know,” his voice is soft. “That’s why I’m not going to be the one to show them around.”

“Wait, you’re not?” Ian asks as Mickey heads to the couch. He tries to follow, but Raph is nosing at his hand, licking at toast crumbs. 

“Nah,” Mickey says as he drops to his seat and picks up a magazine to nonchalantly flip through. 

Ian breaks his second piece of toast into four chunks and feeds them to the pack that are still sniffing around the kitchen after devouring their breakfast. 

“Kenny’s gonna do it,” Mickey adds, only looking up from the magazine when Ian perches on the arm of the couch. 

“Okay,” Ian nods. “That’s a really smart choice.”

“Really?” Mickey cocks his head to the side, looking almost exactly like Cooper when he does the same, so much so that Ian can’t help but grin.

“Kenny knows his shit when it comes to this place and he’s probably the least threatening member of staff. If anyone can work out what they’re up to, it’s him.”

“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking,” Mickey says with some surprise, fingers curling into Ian’s t-shirt and pulling him down. 

Ian lets himself be poured into Mickey’s lap, smiling ridiculously as he wraps his arms around Mickey’s neck. 

“Well, you know what they say about great minds,” Ian murmurs, lips so close to Mickey’s he can practically taste the toast and toothpaste on his breath. 

Before Mickey can say something smart, Ian crushes their mouths together in an open, lazy kiss he hopes will last them both all day long. 

— — 

Ian’s pushing Franny in a shopping cart down the candy aisle when he gets a text from Kenny. 

_The eagle has landed_ is all it says, which makes Ian’s stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Uncle Ian!” Franny shrieks in excitement, tugging frantically on Ian’s jacket sleeve as she points to a mini gumball machine. “Look at all the colours! Can I have it, Uncle Ian?”

Ian pockets his phone to pay better attention to his niece. “I think you’re too young for gum, honey,” he says, smiling sympathetically when Franny immediately pouts. “How about we take a look at the little arts and crafts section I saw at the back, see if there’s something good there?” 

Her frown quickly flips to a grin as she claps happily. “Yay! Is there glitter?”

Unfortunately, there is. 

Which is how Ian finds himself forty minutes later picking glitter out of his eyebrows in the downstairs bathroom of the Gallagher home while checking his messages. 

**Mickey: They’re here. I’m being good and only stalking them on the security monitors. Promise not to slash their tires. Don’t promise not to let Raph take a dump on the windshield.**

**Kenny: They just left. No major casualties. Asked a load of questions and said they were taking notes ‘just in case’ - whatever the fuck that means. Mickey’s still hiding in his office.**

**Debz: Be home soon, just grabbing some KFC for dinner. You staying?**

**Mickey: They’re gone. The windshield is unsoiled. Be proud!**  
 **Mickey: Hope your day was okay by the way and all the stuff went okay.**   
**Mickey: Missed you a bit.**

Ian chews on his lower lip, trying not to giggle out loud. There’s only so much his heart can take and he’s spent the vast majority of his therapy session convincing Doctor Goldberg he does not act like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl whenever Mickey’s name is mentioned. 

He fires off a few replies…

_Just in case??? Did they say anything when they left? They not leave a letter or anything?_

_Okay. Franny’s currently making you a sparkly gift. Not staying for dinner, got a work/Mickey thing. Gonna head off when Liam gets home. Enjoy cleaning up glitter for the next ten thousand years!_

_Very proud! Might even cook you dinner as a reward. Kinda missed you too._

— — 

Kenny’s waiting for Ian by the gates when he gets back to the rescue. He’s talking to a woman Ian quickly recognises as Kenny’s sister, and they both look up at Ian with matching smiles as he approaches. 

“You remember AJ,” Kenny says, nodding to his sister. She’s wearing a volunteer’s t-shirt, and with her arms bared Ian can now see the black and grey tattoo sleeves. 

“Of course! Hey!” He waves, unable to take his eyes from the Sphinx cat tattoo on her forearm. “Wow, that’s some impressive ink. That cat is gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” she beams. “I designed it myself. I’m a tattoo artist.”

Kenny elbows her. “She’s also a painter and a sick graffiti artist. I keep trying to get Mickey to let her do a mural or something.” 

She hits her brother back. “Stop being so loving and supportive, it’s weird. Tell him what he needs to know so we can go get Ryker.”

Kenny rolls his eyes and waves her away. “Fuck you, I’m a delight.”

“Whatever, dork.”

“Mick still in the office?” Ian interrupts before the siblings can get locked in a long round of insulting banter. 

“Yeah. The council permitted those CTS goons to survey the whole property. I had to take them to The Home.”

Ian visibly flinches. “Fuck.”

“Yup, even had to take them into Titan’s place.”

“ _Fuck_. Does Mickey know?” Kenny bobs his head and Ian winces. “Bet he didn’t take that well.”

“I told him about twenty minutes ago and I haven’t seen any destroyed kennels, but you can never be sure, ya know?”

Ian hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder, antsy to get up to the office. 

“Yeah. Yeah, no, thanks,” Ian babbles, already sidestepping them to get to the gate. “Thanks for dealing with that, especially on a Saturday.”

“No worries,” Kenny shrugs. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow, try and figure out what they’re up to. Now, go make sure Mickey and Sweetie aren’t plotting anything,” he adds with a wry smile. 

Ian huffs with a little nod before waving the siblings goodbye and dashing into the rescue. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, and when he bounds through the door full of anxious energy, ready to take on whatever state Mickey’s in, stops dead just inside the room where he finds Mickey sitting quietly at his desk watching a video on his laptop. 

Mickey looks up in relaxed surprise until he blinks and smiles happily. “Hey!”

Ian glances around the office for strewn whiskey bottles or maybe blueprints of the CTS headquarters, but all he finds are four lazy dogs snoozing on the couch, unbothered by Ian’s rushed entrance. 

“Uuuh...hi?” he finally replies. 

Mickey tilts his head as he takes in Ian’s bemused expression. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Ian shakes his head quickly and strolls as casually as he can towards Mickey, who instantly pushes back in his chair to make room for Ian. 

“Good day?” Mickey asks cautiously, allowing Ian to perch on the edge of the desk before him. 

“Yeah, it was good. You? You feeling okay?” Ian’s aware he’s doing that annoying thing Fiona used to do, asking vague questions instead of just coming straight out with it. 

Fortunately, Mickey seems more amused than annoyed. 

“What? Expected to find me behind the couch again?” 

Ian shrugs. 

“Honestly? Yeah, a little,” he admits sheepishly. “Kenny told me about the visit.” 

Mickey sighs and rolls his chair closer to Ian until he can rest his forearms on Ian’s parted thighs. 

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you; If Kenny finds out they’re up to something shitty I can’t promise I won’t go fucking apocalyptic, but until then there’s no fucking point ruining a night with you and driving myself crazy thinking about what might happen.”

Ian’s impressed and his face must show it because Mickey’s beaming up at him like he’s waiting for a gold star sticker. 

“Wow,” Ian says, arms sliding over Mickey’s shoulders. “Sure you didn’t have a therapy session today?”

Mickey grins, hands moving to press at the small of Ian’s back, making Ian feel boxed in and safe. 

“Oh, no, I don’t need therapy anymore. Not since Kenny sent me this Instagram full of motivational quotes.”

Ian smirks, leaning further down to meet Mickey’s lips in a short, wet peck. 

“Yeah? You’ll have to send it my way, might save me some time every week.”

Another peck. 

“Exactly,” Mickey replies with faux seriousness. “Who needs trained professionals when you’ve got _everything happens for a reason_ in a fucking swirly font over a picture of a forest?” 

Ian sighs dramatically. “If only Instagram were around when we were kids. Who knows where we’d be?”

Mickey presses his lips together for a second before shrugging. “I don’t know, I kinda like the view from where I am now.”

Ian rolls his eyes and huffs “Dork,” but kisses Mickey anyway. 

It’s strange to kiss like this. Ian has to tilt Mickey’s head more than usual to capture his mouth fully, making his hands stay at Mickey’s jaw instead of the back of his head where they usually end up. 

He likes it, and by the way Mickey’s kissing back it seems the feeling is mutual. 

Ian could worry about what’s to come, or panic about the depth of his want and the strength of his feelings for someone so early in a relationship, but he’s just too fucking _happy_ to be kissing Mickey again that he can’t bring himself to worry about anything other than sucking Mickey’s plump bottom lip between his own. 

The kiss picks up speed, moving easily from languid to lively as Mickey’s hands go on an adventure around Ian’s body whilst Ian’s stay cupping Mickey’s jaw. 

Mickey presses his palms against Ian’s ass and tugs with enough force to have Ian land right in his lap. Ian gasps as he goes, surprised but still willing to have Mickey’s hands on him. With their heights on a more even keel, Ian can sink himself into Mickey’s mouth. 

Ian pulls back from the kiss to mouth along the pale skin of Mickey’s jaw, right up to his ear where he whispers Mickey’s name in a tone that makes Mickey groan and buck up. 

Ian’s just about to suggest they move this upstairs when their heated moment is interrupted by several impatient yips. 

They pull apart like the effort is almost too great, and when they turn around find all four dogs sitting on the couch looking expectantly at them. 

“They want a walk,” Mickey pants breathlessly, and as soon as the word is out of his mouth the dogs all trample down off the couch. 

Ian sighs and pushes himself back to his feet. “Want me to take ‘em?”

“Nah,” Mickey shakes his head. “To be honest, I could do with the air.”

Ian picks up his discarded backpack from the floor. “I got some steaks for dinner.”

Mickey looks surprised. “You weren’t kidding about making me dinner?”

“I’ve made you dinner like, every night for the last two weeks,” Ian shrugs like it’s no big deal.

Mickey pushes up from his seat. “Yeah, like frozen shit and take out. I didn’t know you could _cook_ , man. You’ve been holding out on me,” he teases. 

Ian shoves softly at Mickey’s chest. “I’m not fucking Gordon Ramsey or anything. You said your favourite food was steak and you didn’t let your dogs vandalise a car today, so if that doesn’t deserve a steak, I don’t know what does.”

Mickey’s looking at Ian like he’s trying to figure something out, caught somewhere between amusement and astonishment, and it makes Ian feel a little raw. 

With a single step forward, Mickey gets his mouth on Ian’s, but only for a moment before the dogs make their demands known. 

“Meet you upstairs in twenty,” Mickey says, eyes glued to Ian’s still tingling lips. 

— —

Ian’s washing salad when Cooper and the twins come scampering through the open apartment door. They yip happily and trample over each other to get to their food bowls, which Ian filled just a few moments before their return. 

Mickey will be locking up downstairs with Sweetie likely at his side, so Ian pulls a beer out of the refrigerator, uncaps it and sets it on the dining table ready for when he gets back. 

When Ian goes back to the sink, Cooper’s bowl is already empty and he’s sitting patiently waiting for Ian. He raises a booted paw in the air and tilts his head comically. 

“Oh, buddy,” Ian laughs fondly, crouching in front of the dog to start removing his booties. “You’re fucking adorable, y’know that? Of course, you know that. You’ve got the cutest face I’ve ever seen.”

Ian tugs off the booties on Cooper’s back paws and then Ian ruffles his big fluffy head in both hands. 

“That’s probably your dad, but you’re a real close second,” he adds, though Cooper doesn’t seem to mind. “That okay, huh? That okay with you?” Ian asks, laughing as Cooper gets more excited. 

When Ian stands back up with a huge childish grin, he finds Mickey stood by the dining table, beer in hand and watching Ian with a soft smile. 

“Uh, how long have you been standing there?” Ian asks, a little flushed. 

Mickey doesn’t answer, instead, he takes a long pull from his beer before setting it back on the table with a forceful _clink_ , and striding purposefully towards an entranced Ian. 

Though he knows the kiss is coming, Ian still gasps when Mickey tucks his fingers into the nape of Ian’s neck and slots their mouths together, both opening immediately so the kiss starts deep. It’s hot moist velvet against warm silk and Ian feels like he’s melting. 

Mickey’s grabbing at his neck like they’re about to be dragged apart, desperate but so sure. Fuck, Mickey kisses like he means it, and when he pulls back to glance up at Ian all molten desire and lips shiny like honey, the intention is clear. 

“You start cooking yet?” Mickey murmurs, voice low though it rings through Ian’s ears louder than his heartbeat. 

Ian shakes his head and licks his lips. “Not yet.”

Mickey mirrors Ian, licking his lips as he slides his fingers back into Ian’s hair. “Good, we can eat after.”

Crystal clear. 

Ian doesn’t even respond something dorky or dumb, just surges forward to capture Mickey with his mouth and in his arms, hands venturing quickly to Mickey’s ass so he can pull them closer together. 

When Mickey reaches up so his arms wind around his neck, Ian uses the momentum to take some of Mickey’s weight so he can manoeuvre them both towards the bedroom. 

Mickey laughs into the kiss, wriggling out of Ian’s grasp as soon as they cross the threshold so he can shove Ian onto the bed. 

“Doctor’s orders,” Mickey smirks as he slinks on top of Ian’s body, the welcome weight grounding Ian after their dizzying kiss. 

Ian leans up on his elbows, unable to keep the grin from his face as Mickey kisses him again. With his large hands wrapping around the back of Mickey’s head, Ian lays flat on his back and brings Mickey down with him, never allowing the kiss to break. 

Ian’s hard, so fucking hard from just the anticipation that he’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for Mickey being just as worked up. They’ve waited, been as patient as can be expected, and now there’s nothing between them but material and breath. 

When Mickey pulls back, Ian momentarily tries to follow but Mickey sits up out of reach. He begins to fumble with Ian’s belt, and Ian wants to help, but instead, his head drops back with a moan. 

Mickey’s chest is heaving as he pants with excitement, yanking Ian’s belt and jeans open like he’s digging for treasure. 

They’ve seen each other naked many times over the last few weeks, rutted together and jerked each other off, bathed and dressed and slept entangled, but now every touch feels more electric, and Ian feels brand new and bare beneath Mickey’s gaze. 

Mickey lets out a filthy moan as he pulls Ian’s cock free, and Ian doesn’t even have the time to process the touch before Mickey’s mouth is swallowing him down. 

“Jesus, _fuck_. Mickey…” Ian groans, shoulders rolling and back arching as the heat of Mickey’s mouth envelopes him. 

Mickey tugs at the sides of Ian’s jeans and boxers, trying to work them down Ian’s legs without pulling off his cock. He gets them to Ian’s thighs before giving up, instead turning his complete attention to Ian’s cock, taking him down deeper until the head is nudging the back of Mickey’s throat. 

“Fuck, Mickey, your fucking mouth,” Ian curses, and Mickey hums happily in response, clearly pleased with himself. 

Ian rakes his fingers through Mickey’s hair, sucking in a breath and squeezing his eyes closed. “You never said you could fucking deep throat, _shit_.”

Ian feels Mickey’s lips slide up and off quickly, the cool air of the room a surprise on his wet, sensitive cock. He opens his eyes, and when he does so finds Mickey licking his lips and staring back with so much want Ian feels like his skin is burning. 

“Like we would’a lasted ten days if I told you that,” Mickey smirks, and Ian could try to argue but Mickey takes the head of Ian’s cock between his lips and sucks softly for a brief moment, rendering Ian speechless. “No way I wouldn’t have sat on this perfect cock if I’d have found out how good it feels just in my throat.”

“Jesus, Mick,” Ian breathes. “You’re killing me, here.” 

Mickey narrows his eyes mischievously. “Then _fuck me_ already.”

Ian groans and grabs Mickey by the shoulder, yanking him up so he can kiss him hard and sloppy. 

They wrestle and wriggle out of their clothes, Mickey helping Ian tug off his shoes and Ian peeling Mickey’s T-shirt off carefully, and then finally it’s skin on skin, both familiar and new. 

Ian digs his fingers into the supple flesh of Mickey’s ass, massaging the perfect pale globes apart. Mickey moans and grinds down against Ian, straddling his waist so he can sit up. 

Mickey reaches into his nightstand, pulling out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube, and dropping it onto the pillow by Ian’s head. 

Ian picks up the box of twelve to study. “I think you might be seriously overestimating my stamina.”

Mickey laughs and plucks the box from Ian’s grasp, passing him the lube instead. 

“I think you’re seriously _underestimating_ how much of a horny pervert you are.”

Ian rubs his thumb along Mickey’s bottom lip, shivering at the way it puckers just for him. 

“Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle horny.”

Mickey plants his hands either side of Ian’s head, leaning down to box him in until Ian is surrounded by everything that is Mickey. 

“Oh, I’m very aware of how fucking horny you make me,” Mickey murmurs, rolling his hips in a single delicious wave.

Ian curses, eyes snapping closed just for a moment before he scrambles for the lube again. He rubs a decent amount onto his fingers and Mickey shuffles a smidge higher, dropping his lips to Ian’s and pushing his ass out. 

Ian groans and lets his fingers find the cleft of Mickey’s ass, rubbing in long lazy lines between the cheeks. He lets his fingertips rub at Mickey’s puckered hole, making Mickey moan into the kiss. 

Mickey rocks back, trying to press against Ian’s fingers. 

Ian tugs Mickey’s earlobe between his teeth, forcing Mickey’s head to tilt so he can hear him moan, soft but clear, when Ian’s finger finally pushes into his hole. 

It’s almost too much, the feel of Mickey’s weight pressing against him, Mickey’s voice in his ear and tight heat giving in to Ian’s probing finger. He adds another, his free hand cupping the back of Mickey’s head so he can hold him in place while he licks and bites at Mickey’s jaw. 

Mickey shoves himself back on Ian’s fingers with more force, whining impatiently. 

“Fuck, I could come just like this,” Mickey groans, his cock rubbing against Ian’s stomach, already sticky with precome. 

Ian curls his fingers and nudges gently against the bundle of nerves he’s been looking for. 

“You can, if you want,” Ian grunts, and almost instantly Mickey pulls his body free of Ian’s fingers. 

“Fuck that, get in me,” he demands, making Ian laugh and squeeze Mickey’s ass hard. 

Mickey gets the condoms, sitting up on Ian’s abdomen so he can open the box and tear off a single packet, ripping it open with his teeth. He shuffles back on to Ian’s legs, both men gasping when their cocks brush, so he can roll the condom down Ian’s dick and slick him up with more lube. 

Ian can’t take his eyes off Mickey’s face, even with a hand around his cock, squeezing rhythmically. 

“Mick,” Ian whimpers, and Mickey smirks and raises himself on his knees, shuffling forward again until he can line Ian up against his hole. 

Mickey rubs the wet tip of Ian’s cock over the curl of muscle to tease himself, moaning Ian’s name like it’s all his doing. 

“Fuck,” Ian chokes as Mickey begins to sink onto his cock, hoping he doesn’t come in ten seconds flat at the magnificent feel of Mickey’s body squeezing around him, accommodating Ian’s cock like it’s meant to be there. 

Mickey’s eyes are screwed shut and he breathes steadily, keeping perfectly still and looking intense. 

Ian strokes Mickey’s thighs gently. “You okay?” 

Mickey licks his lips and nods slowly, eyes blinking open to find Ian’s, and Ian swears they’re even bluer than usual. 

“Just...trying not to come,” Mickey grins, and Ian presses his head back into the pillow and giggles. 

“Fuck, me too.”

Mickey chuckles, heat quivering around Ian’s cock that feels weirdly amazing. He can’t remember the last time sex felt this fun, or if it even ever has. 

Leaning forward carefully, Mickey runs his hands up Ian’s chest, groaning slowly as he kneads Ian’s pecs. 

“Now you see why I bought the box,” he says, and Ian squeezes Mickey’s hips gently. 

“Fuck it, let’s just go for it. No judgment?” Ian suggests, fingertips ghosting over the swollen head of Mickey’s cock. 

Mickey moans, thrusting up to Ian’s hand for more pressure, sliding up and down Ian’s cock quickly. Ian curses and bucks weakly, mewling almost at the grasping silk of Mickey’s body. 

“Y’sure about that?” Mickey laughs, and in response Ian grabs Mickey’s wrist to yank him down, clashing their mouths together in a teeth clattering kiss. 

They sink quickly into a languid rhythm, the fucking and the kissing rolling lazily together as they stay intimately connected. 

It feels incredible. Ian doesn’t know how long it’s been between seconds and minutes; as if time is stretching out like taffy. It’s sticky and slow, each thrust up into Mickey, each sweeping tongue in his mouth. Ian feels almost high with the bliss of it. 

Mickey pulls his mouth away from Ian’s just to latch it to the junction between his neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin. The sparks in Ian’s stomach roar into full flame, and now his thighs tingle. 

“I’m close, Mickey. Fuck, I’m close,” Ian warns, hand jamming between their bodies to squeeze around Mickey’s cock. 

Mickey pushes himself up, hands flat on Ian’s chest to give them more room. He drops himself down steadily on Ian’s cock, grunting with the effort as he continues to impale himself. 

“Holy fuck, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good,” Mickey moans and leans back further, hands falling to his sides and grabbing his ankles as he rotates his hips. 

Ian’s gaze finds Mickey’s and they grin. Mickey’s face is red and shiny with sweat, lips bitten and parted in a smile as he pants. 

“I’m gonna come, Mick,” Ian warns and jerks Mickey’s thick cock. Mickey throws his head back, nodding frantically. 

“C’mon, give it to me. Fuck, Ian, come, come,” Mickey begs, and all Ian can do is scratch at Mickey’s side and give a few more thrusts before coming hot and hard into the condom. 

Mickey’s no more than a few seconds behind, coming with a gasping hiss in fast, thick, spurts over Ian’s fist and stomach.

As they’re catching their breath, Ian tugs Mickey down again to kiss him. Mickey grimaces for a moment as their mess squelches together unpleasantly but soon melts obediently into Ian’s mouth. 

Mickey hums contently and rolls to Ian’s side, sighing as they pull apart. Ian slides off the used condom and drops it to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Ian breathes, rubbing a hand over his face in blissful disbelief. 

“That Doctor Jackson knows her stuff, huh?” Mickey says, and when Ian’s head falls to the side to look at him, finds Mickey’s face bright with a shit-eating grin. 

Ian chuckles and leans to press a kiss to Mickey’s jaw. “We’ll send her a muffin basket or something.”

Mickey nods and rests a hand on Ian’s chest. “Don’t forget Trish.”

“Hey, I’m not made of muffins,” Ian faux protests, but Mickey just keeps grinning and tilting his face to let Ian’s mouth explore. 

“Speaking of muffins, I’m fucking _starving_ ,” Mickey complains.

Ian pulls back with a raised brow. “Are you sending me back to the kitchen again?”

“Hey, we’ve got eleven more condoms to go. We’re gonna need our strength,” Mickey reasons. 

“You’re a little shit,” Ian laughs, kissing Mickey’s neck once before rolling out of bed in search of clothes and a wet cloth. 

Mickey falls onto his front and stretches out lazily. “Yeah, yeah. Get back in the kitchen, bitch!”

Ian throws a balled up t-shirt at Mickey’s head in response, hungry and happy and so incredibly satisfied. 

— — 

It’s late in the night when Sweetie trots out of her crate and over to her water bowl in the kitchen. Her pack is sleeping soundly and she can even hear the two sets of soft breathing coming from Mickey’s large crate. 

She laps up a few mouthfuls of cool water and then goes to nose at her food bowl, licking at the scent of steak that still lingers from dinner hours before. 

She’s been wary of the new pack addition from day one, displeased that he took up so much of Mickey’s attention, but now she’s starting to like the ginger mutt. 

He makes Mickey happy. Makes his eyes brighter and makes him smell so much calmer than he’s ever smelt before. Plus he gives them extra treats and even brought a third steak to cook and divide between her and her brothers, so she doesn’t mind that he’s around so much. 

Every member of the pack has to bring something that betters them, makes them stronger as a whole; like how Mickey is smart and the twins are brave, how Cooper is nurturing, and how Sweetie herself is strong and cunning. 

Ian’s a little bit of it all, and he makes each pack member’s best quality shine even brighter, so if he is to become pack, Sweetie doesn’t have any protest. 

As Sweetie trails back to her crate, ears pricked high to scan the apartment for disturbance, she trots by the muted TV and the flickering security camera feed, unable to see the camera by the front gate being pushed sharply to the left, darkening the screen.


	12. Springer Spaniel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our very in love boys awaken to chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. That was a long nap. My bad! I’m awake now :)

It’s still early when Ian wakes to the feeling of something warm and scratchy bristling against the top of his left thigh. He smiles at the familiar drag of stubble and dry fingertips against his skin, cracking an eye open to see the shape of Mickey’s shoulders beneath the sheets. 

“If you’re awake before sunrise something must be on fire.” Ian sticks a hand under the covers to pet Mickey’s head. Mickey’s lips curl into a smile against Ian’s hip as he trails his mouth over flesh and bone. 

“You’re leaving yourself wide open for some killer firecrotch jokes there, _firecrotch_ ,” comes the cocky, muffled response. 

Ian blinks both eyes open to the darkness and yawns. “Time is it?”

Mickey peeks out from under the sheet, resting his chin on Ian’s clavicle. There’s moonlight on his cheekbones and it makes Ian feel breathless, makes him want to reach out and touch like Mickey might not be real. 

“Dunno,” Mickey shrugs. “Four or something?” 

Ian sinks his fingers into Mickey’s dark hair, pulling him up from his cocoon of cold sheets and warm skin. He slides his free hand over Mickey’s stubble with a smile, tugging at the corner of Mickey’s bottom lip with a thumb until he’s grinning right back. Mickey always feels so right in Ian’s hands, and now he knows what every inch of Mickey’s body feels like, it’s like his skin only feels calm with a part of Mickey beneath it. 

“And how exactly can I help you?” Ian’s voice is low, though feels loud against the silence of the room. He shifts his body beneath Mickey’s, letting Mickey’s erection graze against his upper thigh. Mickey’s eyebrows bob suggestively as he gives a soft thrust. 

Ian chuckles, his quivering stomach making Mickey bounce slightly, which makes the pair of them laugh. He decides then that Mickey’s smile might be one of his favourite sights, along with a sunrise along the Chicago skyline, and watching Liam sleep peacefully. 

As if picking up on Ian’s moment of reverie, Mickey nudges the tip of his nose against Ian’s chin. 

“Still tryna figure it out?” Mickey smirks. 

Ian slides his large hands around the back of Mickey’s neck and pulls him up for a lazy kiss. “Think I’m starting to get it.”

Watching Mickey move in the fading darkness of night, Ian feels something heavy in his chest. It’s a good heavy, though, a warm weight like the one on his stomach and thighs as Mickey rides him steady but slow. 

They’re down to the last condom on the four packet strip Ian had originally pulled from the box just hours earlier, but Ian’s still thinking about buying more tomorrow, because he’s never _not_ going to want to feel this. The heat of Mickey’s body is encapsulating as he pins Ian to the bed with his hips and his gaze. 

Mickey’s beautiful. Flawless pale skin stretching over thick muscle, rising and dipping over every curve of Mickey’s body. Just fucking, “Beautiful,” Ian breathes, arching up just as Mickey reaches down, entwining themselves together deeper, tighter. 

Ian doesn’t know if Mickey heard him, but he’s kissing back like he did, desperate but grounding as Mickey’s strong thighs rock them both to the edge.

Mickey comes, untouched, with an almost pained cry, and Ian is only moments behind, cursing into Mickey’s panting open mouth as he pistons his hips through it.

After, Mickey cleans them off clumsily with a fistful of tissues and settles back against Ian’s chest. 

“Think you should cancel your morning run and sleep in,” Mickey mumbles sleepily. Ian pulls him close and hums in agreement. 

— — 

It’s only when the vibrating phone falls from the nightstand and clatters along the floor that Ian finally awakens. His body jolts, eyes snapping open and hand instinctively shooting out to slap over the phone. 

He groans and collapses back to the mattress as he pulls the phone closer. Yawning, Ian pats at his bed head with one hand and thumbs into his phone notifications with the other. 

It takes a moment for the markings on the screen to make sense, and Ian feels his stomach plummet and blood freeze. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers, before panic rushes in and makes him yell, “What the fuck?!” 

Mickey’s limbs each pick a direction and then head there in a blind panic, and as he jolts awake with maximum voltage, almost sucker punches Ian in the head. 

“What? _Fuck_! What the fuck?” 

“Holy fuck…”

Mickey pulls himself up, rubs at his eyes and groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ian. What’s happening?” 

Ian’s still staring at the link Kenny sent him, which explains the four missed calls from Kenny, two from Brian, one from Earl and a handful of concerned texts from the Gallaghers. 

“I think one of the dogs has escaped.” Ian looks up to find Mickey blinking with confusion as the words pierce through his fog. 

And then his face sets, stone like and unreadable as he spits out, “ _What_?” 

Ian quickly hands over the phone so Mickey can read the short article from a local news blog for himself. Ian chews on his thumbnail as he watches Mickey read, muttering to himself. 

**ESCAPED DANGEROUS DOG LEAVES TRAIL OF SLAUGHTER — HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?**

“What the fuck? What dog? What _bodies_?” Mickey’s nostrils flare in frustration as he angrily taps at the screen. 

“There isn’t a photo of the dog, just eyewitnesses,” Ian explains carefully, taking the phone back and quickly scrolling through the article. “There’s dead raccoons in a bunch of downtown alleys. Someone said they saw the dog carrying one.” 

Mickey curses and yanks his phone from beneath his pile of clothes on the floor. 

“Fuck, it’s not even nine. How the fuck is shit falling apart before nine AM?”

“We don’t know for certain it’s one of ours, we need to check the place out,” Ian attempts to placate his grunting boyfriend, who’s already tugging on his clothes through various curses. 

Ian scrambles to dress, and he’s buckling his belt when Mickey’s phone rings. 

“Fuck, it’s Earl.”

Ian bounces nervously on the balls of his feet as Mickey nods and grunts and curses, the minimal language leaving Ian none the wiser. 

Suddenly, Mickey hurls his phone at the wall. Ian flinches as it bounces off the brick and lands on the floor with a crunch. Amazingly, the phone still appears to work as the illuminated screen shows Mickey’s call list, though it’s now behind an impressive gash down the center of the screen. 

Mickey clenches his fists, turning his knuckles ghost white. “Titan’s gone.”

— — 

Earl’s on his way back from The Home with Brian when they run into them. He’s clutching the tablet from the warehouse office, looking fierce like he’s about to punch out the next person he sees. Brian’s wringing his hands just behind him, and the look on his face makes Ian feel nauseous. 

“A fucking power cut,” Earl says, thrusting the tablet to Mickey’s chest. When Mickey pulls it back, Ian can see nine black boxes on the screen, each displaying _DATA NOT FOUND_. 

“What? Fucking _when_?” Mickey snaps. 

“Sometime last night,” Brian pipes up, voice tight and nervous. “The main power went off and when it came back on, the cameras were reset and the footage lost.” 

“Mother fu—” Ian snatches the tablet away from Mickey before he can throw it. 

“I’ll just take that.”

“This stinks, this whole fucking thing _reeks_ of CTS and their flying monkeys,” Earl says. “I bet they have him.”

Mickey shakes his head and thumbs his nose. “There’s no way they could get to him without losing a limb.”

“Then how the fuck—”

“Uhm, excuse me? Mickey?” a voice breaks through as one of the weekend volunteers approaches. The pack surrounds her quickly, tails wagging. 

“What’s up Lauren?”

She straightens from greeting the dogs and chews on her lip as she informs them the police and animal control are outside the rescue, wanting to talk to Mickey. 

Mickey groans. “Fine, fuck. I’ll go talk to them. Can you take these guys and get some people together to start searching?”

Lauren nods. “Of course, but, uhm…”

“What?” Mickey all but growls. 

“There’s also a news van here and I think I saw that bitch from CTS talking to a reporter.” She braces herself like she’s expecting Mickey to explode, and as his boyfriend starts to vibrate, Ian thinks he just might. 

“Okay,” Ian says calmly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’ll go with Mickey to talk to the cops. Brian, call Kenny and tell him to get his ass down here with any information he has about CTS. Earl, you take charge of the search group.” 

Earl and Brian stare at Ian uncertainly for a long moment before glancing quickly to Mickey, and then at each other. Mickey doesn’t say anything, just nods shortly and then juts his head towards the warehouse, signalling for them to leave. 

“Call as soon as you know _anything_ ,” Mickey instructs as they hurry off just behind Lauren and the pack. Earl clasps a hand on Mickey’s shoulder before disappearing, and it’s such a familial touch of comfort that Mickey watches after him, stunned.

“You good?” Ian says softly, breaking Mickey from thought. Mickey nods, but doesn’t respond. Ian bumps his shoulder gently against Mickey’s. “Let’s go find out what the fuck’s going on.”

As they walk towards the gates, Mickey grabs a hold of Ian’s hand, squeezes a few times, and then lets go without a word. 

An officer is waiting just outside the gate, talking to two animal control rangers carrying tranq rifles. Mickey eyes them sternly, jaw tightening, biceps flexing like he’s trying to give off menacing alpha vibes purposely, instead of the antisocial energy he gives off naturally. 

One of the rangers, a plump woman with a tight ponytail, gives them a nod as they approach. “Hey, Mickey.”

“Amber, Neil,” Mickey greets in return before regarding the officer with a fixed scowl. “Officer Reams.” 

The tall, skinny officer sneers at Mickey, making his moustache wriggle. “Milkovich,” he grunts. “Knew it’d only be a matter of time before you fucked up.”

Ian bristles. “Hey, now-”

Mickey’s hand shoots out to Ian’s stomach as he steps forward, stopping Ian in his tracks and giving him a firm but pleading look that says, _Don’t_. Ian backs down obediently, but he’s not happy about it. 

He’s starting to wish they’d brought Sweetie along. No way would she be putting up with this shit. 

Reams looks delighted to have annoyed Ian, and he smirks right at him like he’s trying to goad Ian into saying something more. Ian glares at the officer over Mickey’s shoulder. 

“Chill out, Judge Dredd. We don’t know what’s happened yet,” Mickey spits, making Amber crack a hidden smirk. “I’ve got guys out looking for Titan, was just coming to grab these fine rangers of Animal Control to help with the search and get this over with.”

Officer Reams chuckles and rubs his tongue over his coffee stained teeth. He juts his hip and rests a hand on his holster. “Yeah? Well, I got people out there looking for this mutt too.”

The way his hand hovers over his holster and the way he smirks at Mickey makes Ian shiver with anger. Ian sees Mickey’s jaw set, and he almost wants to reach out and touch him in comfort, but quickly decides against it. 

“Yeah? Coz Chicago PD are famous for finding shit quickly,” Mickey bites. 

Reams shrugs. “Found your ass when you escaped from juvie.”

Ian wants to floor this asshole, even if he is a cop and Ian’s still on parole. He expects Mickey to lash out and prepares to make a quick grab, but Mickey doesn’t move.

Instead, Mickey throws his head back and laughs, loud and sharp. “You still going on about that? Catching a drunk fourteen year old hiding out in a cemetery for a week is the highlight of your career? Fuck, how many hours a day you spend polishing that Purple Heart?” 

The smirk falls from Reams’ face and he steps forward quickly with a pissed off scowl. Luckily, Amber is quicker, and she steps between the two men to address Mickey. 

“Y’all suppose we could get this thing going? This is already gonna be a shit tonne of paperwork and I wanna put my kid to bed tonight.”

Ian grabs Mickey by the elbow. “That sounds like a great idea, right Mick?” 

As Ian manages to pull Mickey away from Officer Asshole’s death glare, they turn and instantly walk smack bang into Linda Pearce in her trademark shit-stained suit. 

“Jesus Christ!” Mickey groans, rubbing at his eyebrows. Linda’s face is sour as she hugs the CTS clipboard to her chest. There’s a reporter and a cameraman milling around behind her, reading over notes but keeping an eye on the two enemies. 

“Mr. Milkovich,” she greets tightly. 

“Cruella,” he nods, and Ian only just manages to keep the laughter bubbling in his chest from rising up his throat. She straightens her shoulders, brushing off the insult as she glances down at her clipboard. 

Her dark hair is scraped into a tight bun that pinches her face, and she glares down her thin nose at them. 

“Ah, hello, officer,” she says, greeting officer Reams over their heads. “Thank you for responding so promptly.”

Mickey double takes and Ian watches his back stiffen. “ _You_ called the cops?” 

Linda straightens, determined. “My colleague saw a dangerous dog prowling the streets on his morning walk. _He_ notified the authorities and then contacted me. Given your history dealing with these types of animals, I deduced your rescue would be involved.”

Glancing behind her to the reporter, Linda seemed to catch their gaze and silently beckon them over. The cameraman quickly raises the camera to his shoulder. 

Ian feels nauseous and he wants to step to the back of the group and hide. He knows Mickey would understand his nervousness around the media, but he’s not going to leave Mickey’s six unguarded. 

Mickey huffs. “Yeah? And where is your flying monkey if he’s so worried about the community?”

“Mick,” Ian warns quietly as he warily eyes the reporter, who just started jotting down quick notes. 

“Mr. Cox is delivering a proposal to take over and renovate this site, on behalf of the Chicago Transformation Society, to the council and the mayor’s office as we speak.”

There’s a momentary flicker of helpless worry across Mickey’s face before his eyes quickly narrow at Linda’s head like heat seeking missiles. 

“What?” Mickey barks. 

Ian gives Linda a look of utter disbelief. “You’re actually going to try and close down the rescue?”

“Mr. Milkovich!” the reporter calls, pen in the air as she bustles forward. “Can we get an interview?”

“ _Not_ a good time,” Mickey growls, gaze glued to Linda’s face like he’s trying to make her spontaneously explode. 

“How about a quote on your rescue’s failure to secure a dangerous animal?”

“Oh? You want a _quote_?”

Ian can practically see the glee in Linda’s eyes as Mickey gears up for a very likely highly offensive response, but he’s not going to let her have the satisfaction of pushing Mickey over the edge. 

“We’d love to but we don’t have the time to stand around talking to reporters when there’s work to be done,” Ian says as he steps forward, hand clamped hard on Mickey’s shoulder as he jerks him back. “I’m sure Ms. Pearce has plenty of time,” he adds with a tight smirk before yanking Mickey back behind the rescue gates. 

“What the fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey bites, still struggling to get back and say his piece. 

“I’m not gonna let you or your temper fuck this up,” Ian snaps, both hands on Mickey’s shoulders. “We can deal with that shit later. Right now, Titan needs you. He needs _you_ , Mickey.”

Mickey states hard at Ian for a moment or so before softening from destructive to determination. He sighs. “Fuck. You’re right.” 

Ian’s mouth curls into a disarming smile. “Of course I am.” 

Mickey opens his mouth, probably to respond with a playful insult, but his chirping phone interrupts him. He fishes it from his pocket quickly, thumbing over the broken screen. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles to himself, and Ian tips himself forward on the balls of his feet, trying to see what he’s looking at. 

“What? What’s happened? Earl find him?”

Mickey shakes his head and turns the phone so Ian can see the photo of a big dog half hidden by garbage cans. “Eli. Fuck, _thank God_. Titan’s in the dumpsters behind the diner.”

There’s relief on both men’s faces, but inside, Ian feels a curling of anxiety in his chest, heavy and sloppy like a balled up wet paper towel. 

“Eli?” 

“Yeah, he’s managed to block off the end of the alley. Jesus, we gotta go.” 

Mickey shoves his phone back into his pocket and looks over Ian’s shoulder to the front gates where Linda Pearce is still prattling on to the reporter. 

“C’mon, we can slip out through the fire exit in the warehouse.”

Ian lets Mickey tug him away, swallowing hard against the discomfort of Mickey racing to his ex. 

— — 

When they approach the diner, there’s a police car already pulled up and raised voices spilling out from the restaurant. Through the window, Eli and what appears to be the manager are arguing with two police officers. 

Mickey curses and shoulders the door open, storming inside and halting the heated voices. 

“Mick,” Eli says with relief, and Ian tries not to let it bother him. He _really_ tries, but the word is echoing around his chest. How dare he say that name with such ease. How dare he look at Mickey with such gentle awe after the shit he has pulled. 

The officers quickly turn to eye them, but Mickey ignores them, eyes settling on Eli.

“Where is he?” 

Eli nods towards the kitchen. “He’s still out back.”

When Mickey goes towards the door, the officers quickly step into his path. 

“Not so fast,” says one, hand stretching out to grab his shoulder. “We can’t let you near that animal until backup arrives.”

Mickey glares at the offending hand before shaking it off. “That’s _my dog_ out there.”

“Sir, your dog is a danger to the public. He’s already viciously attacked several urban animals.” says the other. “You need to wait until animal control arrives.”

“The dog isn’t in public,” Eli cuts in. “He’s secured in an area on _my_ property.”

“The animal is _dangerous_ ,” the officer repeats. “There have been a number of attacks—”

Eli scoffs. “Attacks? You mean all those dead raccoons that stink up the place because the Korean restaurant across the way keeps putting out some god awful poison that makes the poor fuckers explode? The same dead raccoons I’ve been complaining to you guys and the city about for _months_ due to the numerous health code violations and you’ve done nothing about?”

The officer opens his mouth to argue, but Eli isn’t done. 

“Mickey is the most qualified and experienced person in the whole damn Southside when it comes to these animals, so while he’s on _my_ property he can go wherever he needs to. You got a problem with that? Arrest me.”

The cops look stunned for a moment and glance at each other blankly before slowly stepping out of Mickey’s way. 

Ian feels awkward. He doesn’t know what to do or where to look. He wants to help Mickey, assist in some way instead of being wrapped up in confusion over Eli’s seemingly genuine compliments. 

“C’mon, Gallagher,” Mickey throws over his shoulder casually, and Ian scurries after him. When he passes Eli, he gets a nod and a tight but honest smile. 

The cops still follow them, but decide to remain in the kitchen at a safe distance as Mickey eases open the back door and slips out, holding it for a moment to make sure Ian follows. 

“Fuckin’ pussies,” Mickey mumbles as the heavy door swings closed They move cautiously further into the alley. “Fuckin’ Chicago’s finest _my ass_.” 

Ian wants to ask if Mickey’s sure he needs Ian’s help, but he remembers the phone call pep talk Mickey gave with Champion’s rescue, and so instead stops by a dumpster and says, “I’m right here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Mickey nods, and Ian feels a swell of self pride. 

Titan is crouched by the last dumpster at the dead end of the alley, snuffling through a torn open box of what looks to have once been doughnuts. He raises his large head when Mickey approaches, watching carefully. When Mickey stops about ten feet away, Titan sits, face unnervingly unreadable to Ian. 

“Hey, bud,” Mickey greets, cool and calm as if they’re back at the rescue. He dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a treat that he gently tosses to Titan’s feet. 

Titan quickly leans down to lick up the treat, revealing the blood smeared along his muzzle. It makes Ian suck in a nervous breath, because even if they don’t know whether Titan’s actually killed something, it still looks pretty damn unsettling. 

Mickey takes a slow step forward, tossing another treat at the same time. “Such a good boy,” Mickey praises softly, hands loose and relaxed at his sides. 

Ian’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he checks it quickly. It’s Earl. He’s on his way from ten blocks over with the rescue van and backup. 

“Earl’s ETA is five minutes.” 

The quick side glance Mickey shoots is the only confirmation Ian gets that he’s been heard. He clutches his phone beneath his chin and watches Mickey nervously. 

Titan makes a gruff little pleased grunt, standing so quick it almost startles Ian. The dog turns back to the dumpster to mouth at something, and when he steps back towards Mickey, both men swallow. 

There’s the limp body of a large blooded raccoon clamped between Titan’s jaws. 

“Mick,” Ian breathes, at loss for anything else to say. 

“You’re okay, aren’t you, bud?” Mickey coos lightly to the animal. “You’re not guarding a kill, are you? Your body language isn’t aggressive, you look happy and relaxed, don’t you, boy?” The dog makes another happy grunt and gives a shallow play bow, tail wagging. 

There’s a pause before Mickey curses, though not of frustration — more realisation. 

“What?” Ian asks softly. 

“He gets rewarded for the toys he doesn’t destroy,” Mickey replies, finally turning his gaze to Ian. 

Ian’s heart clenches. 

Mickey pulls out a few more treats from his pocket and Titan quickly drops the body of the raccoon to the floor and then sits obediently. Mickey’s resulting laugh is bright and pure, and seems to make Titan even happier. 

“Good boy!” Mickey grins, tossing the treats towards Titan. 

As Titan leans down to gather the treats, there’s a high pitched _whooshing_ noise that stops abruptly, and then a pink ball of fuzz seems to have attached itself to the top of Titan’s shoulder. 

Titan yips in surprise, and by the time either of them register what the hell just happened, the large dog growls and staggers forward a few steps before collapsing ungraciously on his side. 

Ian spins around to see Officer Reams at the mouth of the alley, lowering a tranq rifle with a sick, satisfied smirk. Beside him, Nigel the Animal Control officer looks guiltily uncomfortable, and Amber looks simply furious. 

“What the _fuck_ did you do that for?” Mickey yells.

Officer Reams hands the rifle back to Nigel, eyebrows raised at Mickey in a challenging manner. “What? I’m the best shot here by far.”

Ian can see the reply Mickey wants to give flashing behind his eyes. One on one, gun on gun, Mickey would out shoot him any day. Luckily, Amber steps forward before Mickey’s mouth can run off again. 

“Mickey, I’m sorry, but you know we have to hold him.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I had him,” Mickey argues. 

Amber sighs sympathetically. “I know you did, but you know they’re gonna make us take him in. No one can handle him like you can.”

“That’s why he should be back at the rescue, with _me_ ,” Mickey says, sounding more pleading than before. 

“The rescue that lost him?” Reams snorts in disbelief. “Please.” 

“Hey, man. Fuck you!” 

“Mick,” Ian quickly steps in, and at that moment the back door to the diner swings open, the two officers piling into the alley with Eli and the manager. 

“Ah, officer Winters, officer Ambrose,” Reams greets. “Help the guys from AC get this animal ready for transport.”

Mickey whips to face them. “Don’t you touch my dog,” he growls before turning to Reams. “I’ll do it.” 

Amber pulls out her van keys. “Come on, then, let’s get this done before the big guy comes-to.” 

“And then we’ll need to take a statement from you, and anyone else who spends the night,” Reams instructs, shooting a glance to Ian. 

“At the station?” Ian clarifies. 

Reams smirks. “What? You want me to tell your PO not only are you shacking up with your boss but that you’re also refusing to cooperate with police?” 

“No,” Mickey cuts in. “We’ll be there as soon as we’re done here.” 

Reams wriggles his moustache, displeased but relenting. “Ambrose, Winters, keep an eye on things here and then make sure these two find their way down to the station.” 

When he turns and leaves, the Animal Control officers follow to grab a crate from the truck. 

Mickey ignores everyone else and returns to Titan, kneeling by the snoring dog and running a hand over his head. The remaining officers watch him scrutinously, but the manager and Eli have disappeared — which Ian is shamefully grateful for. 

“Hey,” he says softly as he kneels by Mickey. “You okay?”

Mickey doesn’t look up from Titan, just keeps running his fingers through the short dark fur on the top of the dog’s head. “I forgot how soft he was.” 

Ian squeezes Mickey’s elbow discreetly. He wants to comfort Mickey more, wants to grab him by the neck and force their gaze together, tell him none of this is Mickey’s fault. 

“I won’t let Reams fuck with you,” Mickey says suddenly, finally looking up at Ian with clear conviction. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Ian nods and smiles gingerly. “I know, and neither have you. We’re gonna figure this out.” 

Mickey looks back at Titan and sighs. “Man, I hope so.”

— — 

Five hours after leaving the rescue to search for Titan, Mickey and Ian finally return. The volunteers are getting the dogs ready for their afternoon walks, but the parolees and the pack are waiting in Mickey’s office, minus Kenny. 

Sweetie is the first of the pack to get to Mickey, and Ian is surprised when he scoops her up in his arms and holds her to his chest like a security teddy before throwing himself down on the beat up couch. The rest of the pack don’t join them until Ian takes a seat next to Mickey.

“You guys okay?” Brian asks as Cooper throws himself over Ian’s lap, nosing him with concern. 

“Fucking bullshit waste of fucking time,” Mickey spits, and Sweetie grizzles in agreement. 

Ian tucks his fingers into Cooper’s dark fur. “They don’t believe it’s a break in.”

“I know,” Brian grumbles. “Couple useless uniforms looked over The Home while you were gone, said there was no signs of a break in, took a few photos, and left.”

Earl scratches his beard and snorts. “Reams and his goons have been in CTS’ pocket since their big donation to their department last year. Whenever CTS are shutting some place down, Reams is there like a good little lap dog.”

“Don’t insult lap dogs,” comes Mickey’s quiet grumble, head hung across the back of the couch. Sweetie grizzles again. 

Earl rolls his eyes. “This place could be stripped like a Southside hooker and those idiots would still find no evidence of a damn break in.” 

Brian sighs. “They’re gonna do anything to help CTS get rid of us.”

“So, what are we doing now?” Ernez asks from his perch against Mickey’s desk. 

“I got a text from Kenny saying he’ll be here soon and he has news,” Brian says, fishing his phone from his hoodie pocket. 

Mickey groans, loud and annoyed as he pulls his head up. “Well tell that little fucking twirp that if he doesn’t get his skinny ass here right the fuck now I’m gonna—”

“Hey, gang!” Kenny announces as the door bounces open. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Mickey bites, setting Sweetie aside so he can lean into his glare. 

Kenny raises the slim laptop he’s holding aloft like he’s introducing a newborn cub to the pride, and when he receives nothing but puzzled looks and a continuing glare, he deflates and rolls his eyes. 

“Guys, I’ve got it! I’ve got the proof to get CTS off our asses!” 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW IS THERE ONLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT?!
> 
> HOW?
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me and for coming back. I promise the next chapter won’t take as long 😬 
> 
> I’m going to miss this story, but I’m looking forward to it’s completion so I can work on all the other projects I’ve got festering away in my brain. 
> 
> So much love to you all 💗 
> 
> 🐾

**Author's Note:**

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> 
> I’ve loved making fandom content for over fifteen years, be it writing, crafts, soundtracks or graphic art. If you’d like to help support me you can [buy me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/wildxwired) or share my content


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